Strike of the Dead Dragon
by MirwenAnareth
Summary: With Alduin and Miraak gone, Aislinn would do anything to find her purpose again, even if it meant making an innocent child a thief. But when this young boy brings her a dragon claw stolen from a Thalmor, it sets her on a dangerous journey through a land full of enemies who, unexpectedly, would do anything to capture her and make her meet her doom.
1. The Feeling of Emptiness

_Before you start reading the first chapter I have a few words to say. I am not a native English speaker but I want to write in English so I can address as many readers as possible. If you are willing to, I'd be more than happy to have you review my work and correct any mistakes you can find there. If you have any input concerning the story, definitely send it to me, it might help me improve it. Recently I got myself a beta called dart0808 who helps me fix some mistakes, but if you're by any chance interested in doing a beta for me, definitely let me know, there's no such thing as too many beta readers and my aim is to improve after all. :)  
_

 _I think you might find the first few chapters harder to read (maybe like four of them) but since I have at least confidence in the story and in the way it evolves, I promise it gets better, so please, don't give up on me._

 _A little edit as I looked at the visitors graph: A lot of you drop the story after the first chapter. However, I took it more like a book and it's developing slowly but surely along with the characters. In other words, it might take a while before something really happens but there will be plenty of action, several storylines that entwine with each other and a good deal of romance as well, I can promise you that. I don't think that the first chapter speaks for the whole story, it cannot and it would be bad if it did, actually. So please, consider reading more than that. :)_

 _Thank you in advance for your understanding. Hope you like the story. :)_

This story takes place after the main quests of Skyrim (including the datadisks) and continues as a spin-off.

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 **Disclaimer: Skyrim and Elder Scrolls are the property of Bethesda Game Studios. I only own the original characters and a few made-up places in the story.**

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 **Chapter 1: The Feeling of Emptiness**

Void. Emptiness. Nothingness. The feeling of being lost and not knowing where to head next. That was the feeling Aislinn had after all had been said and done. Suddenly, her life had no direction, no purpose. Alduin the World-Eater was gone. Miraak was gone. It had been a long time since Hermaeus Mora had last spoken to her. Everything was calm, quiet. Oh yes, people always had their little worries and affairs, they always troubled Aislinn with petty requests such as bringing some worthless junk all across Skyrim to a shrine… for higher purposes. Yeah, higher purposes my tail. The Stormcloaks and Imperials were always quarrelling, killing each other in the process, carelessly fighting, blaming the other party while not realizing they had been doing the exact same thing, but everything the "normal" people cared about were their ridiculous trinkets.

So why not actually rid them of some? Yes, the only jobs that Aislinn found calming and fulfilling were the ones for the Thieves Guild or the Dark Brotherhood. She did not feel like a criminal. Her conscience was constantly haunting her, preventing her from killing or robbing people she found innocent, pure even. Even so, the murder of the Emperor left a deep wound on her soul. Doubts had filled her head the moment she had met him. He had not been the kind of person she would have wanted to kill. Seeing him accept his fate while facing her, that resigned look in his face, his almost comforting expression as he calmly encouraged her to proceed with her business, she had felt sorry for him, sympathetic even. But the contract had to be fulfilled and both parties knew it. She'd chosen to respect his final wish and punish the one who'd ordered the Emperor killed. Despite that, she could still hear a voice deep inside her heart telling her she might have gone against her destiny. Maybe she'd cursed this world instead of saving it. What does the death of Alduin matter if people lose their purpose and the one real and solid existence they could look up to?

In this sense, Aislinn was no exception. She had lost her purpose, along it went her will to live a fulfilling life and find her own destiny. It seemed to have ended with the last bigger task she'd completed. As controversial as it was, she only found peace in the shady or not-so-legal tasks that gave her at least a portion of the excitement she'd been missing ever since she had dealt with Miraak. Oh, the thrill of hiding in shadows, the challenges that stealing in a crowded area presented, the sweet urgency to think hard only to get out of the precarious situation. It all faded compared to the glory of killing a dragon and devouring his soul, the surreal sensation of raw power rising in golden sparks and encircling her body before entering it with an impact she would never get used to, but she got at least something out of it.

Just how did it all begin, exactly? With her being the Dragonborn, yes. Even now there was a part of her that refused to believe it was the reality. The Dragonborn? An existence long foretold by the prophets, meant for saving the world, defeating the great black dragon, Alduin, the World-Eater? Someone who could compare to Talos himself? And if saving the world meant getting it rid of Alduin's existence, then why was it over in a mere blink of an eye? The time she had spent looking for a solution seemed long and exhausting while being at it, going from one dungeon to another, uncovering endless secrets and making bargains she had not even been sure to be able to honor, but when it was over? Then what? Nothing. There was nothing left to be done and it didn't even take half a year. What are a few months compared to a lifetime? Where is she supposed to go now?

She was sitting on a grey rock looming above the vast land below, staring at the golden-grey cloudy sky trying to remember who she had been before being captured along with the Stormcloaks, as she had tried many times before. Still nothing. She had no place in this world. No past, no future. The day was coming to an end and amber light shone dimly through the rippled clouds, casting itself upon the lazily dangling branches of birch and oak trees behind her. The land was still and quiet as she'd just got rid of the last of the lousy bandits camping next to the road from Riften to Ivarstead. She ran her hand through her unusually short chestnut-colored hair carelessly sliding the loose strands out of her face. It was getting dark and the breeze suddenly started whispering a silent song through the branches of the oak trees. Maybe the bards could sing a song like that, she thought to herself. It would be a nice change compared to the boring odes for Tamriel heroes they usually sing. She could propose it at the college. Or maybe not. They might find that she's actually tone-deaf.

Tired of looking at the skies and thinking of meaningless things, Aislinn jumped on her feet, left the rock she had been sitting on behind and called Shadowmere. The loyal black horse ran happily to her, his ethereal red eyes watching her attentively. Aislinn directed Shadowmere for Riften while examining the scenery around. She spotted several necromancers and a bear along the way but wasn't in a mood for fighting. As she reached Riften stables, she noticed a sloppy thief being chased by a local attendant. Leaving Shadowmere behind, she sneaked past the stables and waited in shade between the simple wooden dwelling and the rather cramped horse stall until the thief reached her. The moment he ran into her, she stood up, grabbed the collar of his beige belted Guild uniform and held him in the place. His eyes widened as he recognized her.

"Boss, what in Oblivion are you doing?" he whispered, shock reflecting in his face.

"That should be my line," she replied mercilessly, her eyes stunning her in place. "It's the end of you if you get caught. The guild doesn't need people like you and you know it."

He stared at her with his eyes full of despair as the guards dragged him to the city gates. Her gaze was petrifying but she did not allow herself to be affected. She did not like the guy. He was the greedy type, someone who only thinks of his own pocket, blind and ignorant. He didn't quite fit into the guild whose orthodox members tended to primarily seek the excitement of breaking the law and reminding people that there were no certainties in this world. Honorable thieves. As absurd as it sounded, she had learned to think of them that way. It was good to have them on her side. They were useful allies… and some of them even good friends. She kept thinking about Brynjolf. The guy was cool. She liked how he always addressed her as a "lass", even by the time she'd become the boss. She liked his deep rough voice. She'd seen him fight and deal with various problems before and knew far too well that he wasn't just a simple thief. He was a mystery to her, always attending to some super-secret business, hiding his face under his hood, refusing to talk. And boy, she loved mysteries.

Oh yes, there were also Delvin Mallory and Tonilia. But these two… it took a simple counting of two and two together to figure that they're just good with people. They have contacts and they know how to use them. Impressive but not mysterious. Brynjolf was a mystery and that was intriguing.

She headed for the Ratway. The city had always seemed unaffected by the recent turn of events including the change of the jarl. It was different this time. Aislinn smelled a change in the air. Walking across the eastern bridge she noticed two Thalmor representatives in their deep blue hoods talking to the city guards. That certainly wasn't good news. The Thalmor used to more or less ignore Riften and the citizens surely weren't complaining about this. This time the faces on both sides seemed serious. Too serious. It just wasn't right.

Proceeding through the cemetery, Aislinn pushed the button to open the sarcophagus presenting the secret entrance to the Ragged Flagon. A few faces lifted as she climbed down the ladder beneath it and entered a dimly lit round cave-like room with a pool in its center, two concave bridges running across it and meeting at the centre in a round platform. She inspected the place carefully before sliding her hand under her dark grey cloak. A beautiful golden jar with sapphire decorations appeared in her hand as she pulled it out again.

"What's that?" Delvin Mallory's voice echoed through the room and she could see a bald Breton man of a smaller posture approach her, his expression half surprised, half amused. "Wasn't Ned supposed to deliver this? You know Ned, right? The newbie."

"He was caught," Aislinn replied dryly. Not that she needed to add anything else for the quick-witted thief to know exactly what had happened out there.

"But the prize was saved," responded Delvin with an imperceptible smile. "You just never fail, boss, even when it comes to backup plans."

"Give me some challenge," she snorted.

"Then find one," a crispy voice joined the conversation. Aislinn did not have to turn her head to figure that it's the beautiful and sharp-tongued Vex speaking to her, her straight blonde hair put behind her ears, making her long pale face seem even rougher than usual. "You're pretty good at that, right?"

"Ran out of them," said Aislinn with a slight sigh. "Unless you want me to steal directly from some jarl's pocket. I doubt they're carrying any valuable things around though. And the Emperor's gone, you know."

"Actually, there is a challenge," a rough voice added. A handsome red-haired Nord was walking toward their group, his light brown hood deep in his face. Aislinn shivered as she saw Brynjolf approaching. Their eyes met and she instantly felt the urge to turn away as he set his gaze upon her, his turquoise irises shimmering from under the hood. Her chain of thought was interrupted, however, when she noticed movement behind one of the chests which lay along the walls.

"We have a visitor," stated and walked past the chest, pulling a young boy from behind it. He could be about fourteen years old, his body seemingly small and fragile, dark brown hair cut short to reveal his round and seemingly innocent face. His eyes widened when he saw Aislinn.

"You!" he shouted, his voice trembling with shock and disbelief. "You… but it can't be. You're not a thief!"

"Oh? How's that so?" Aislinn sounded entertained. She loved kids with everything that came with it. Including their naiveté.

"Because… you help people. You're always there for them. Everyone's always talking about you! You can't…"

Aislinn put her hands on his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. He tried to avert his gaze but found himself unable to move.

"Look," she said softly while silently chewing on the fact she had just found a fourteen years old boy in one of the most protected places in Skyrim. "We do help people, all right? Our job comes with a risk and we get paid for it. The ones who pay us are normal people like you – people who need a favor and cannot do it themselves. They ask us, we do what is needed and they pay us. Nothing wrong with that. We're not mere burglars pursuing their own selfish ambitions or doing things out of spite. Of course there might come a time when we just kind of… take our share as well. But overall we just do business."

"But you… steal from people! You take their things!" He sounded desperate, his voice now a few tones higher. Aislinn didn't look bothered by his accusation.

"Have you actually seen anyone suffer because of us?" she asked, her voice still soft and compassionate.

There was a moment of silence. Then he shook his head.

"Of course not. Because we don't hurt people. You know," her voice hardened a little, "I think you refuse to see things as they are. You're Samuel, right? The one from the orphanage."

"You remember?" he replied, a little bit of pride in his voice.

"There's not too many things I do _not_ remember," she smiled. "And you remember me. Do you know when we first met?" She was studying him, examining his reactions and readiness. She knew he would try to avoid the answer. But this boy had the guts to show himself here, whatever his reasons might have been. He deserved to see the truth.

"When you came and took Runa with you?" The answer didn't sound confident.

"Think again," she ordered him firmly.

Samuel didn't look pleased. A certain memory flashed through his mind. A memory he had been trying to deny for some time now, one he had cast away in hope of never recalling it again for it was dark and it questioned his honor and conscience.

"That night…" his voice cracked. "That night when… when Grelod died."

"Well, she didn't just _die_ , did she?" Aislinn's voice was now hard and cold as steel. "I believe you were overjoyed when she was assassinated. So many problems solved with just one murder. One would say a murder is far more serious a sin than a simple theft. But you were all happy. There was no-one shedding tears over her death, just the city guards pitying the poor children who'd lost their beloved nurse, out of pure obligation." Aislinn looked around to make sure Ravyn wasn't listening to her. Everyone else pretty much knew about her connection to the Dark Brotherhood. It was funny to watch Ravyn talking to people about how he's scared of the Brotherhood though and it would be a shame to ruin the fun this way. Then she continued. "The Guild and the Dark Brotherhood are not as different as you might think. We respond to the people."

Surprisingly, the boy didn't seem too shocked, despite his body trembling, his eyes avoiding contact.

"Do you want to try it?" Aislinn asked silently, lifting his chin slightly to make him look at her.

"What?! Wait, boss, you want to make this boy a thief? This little boy? He'll mess it up before you can pick a lock with the Skeleton Key," Delvin protested.

"No, he won't," Aislinn smiled again, her golden eyes the epitome of innocence, now outdoing even the little boy before her. "I won't let him. And besides, it's because he's a little boy that he'll be able to do it. Some things are just easier for children. Maybe he doesn't have experience but he can compensate for it with his innocent look and small body." A sly grin showed on her face when she made her point.

The present Guild members looked doubtful but no-one dared oppose their boss. Their gazes turned to Samuel who, unconsciously, took a step back and bumped into the cold stone wall behind him. He knew he had no choice anymore. Either he could serve the Guild, or he would be silenced. Still, a part of him suddenly felt energized and excited. He wanted to try and take the risk. He wanted to prove his worth, something he could never achieve in the orphanage where everyone just had to be annoyingly equal. He wanted to feel special, even if it meant getting his hands dirty. And so, with his expression slowly gaining determination, he nodded.

Deep inside her mind, Aislinn laughed. It's not killing dragons or dealing with Daedric Princes and it's definitely not saving the world, but it sure is going to be fun. This boy knows nothing of the world he lives in but she can open his eyes. Just like she had to open hers some time ago to see the world balancing on the scales of survival of the fittest weighed by wits and power. Excitement is coming.


	2. Eyes Open, Walk with the Shadows

**Chapter 2: Eyes Open, Walk with the Shadows**

It was by no means the first time Samuel had to steal something. Back when Grelod was running the Honorhall Orphanage, he sometimes had to sneak out and grab some food for himself and his friends. He had always hated her and her cruel punishments. He remembered a time when he was considering just climbing up a roof and jumping down from it. He'd almost lost his hope of getting out of this hell… until the mysterious assassin came and slew Grelod. Grelod the Kind. Just what kind of bad joke was that, really.

Samuel sneaked out of the Ratway and found himself on the wooden wharf below the city which ran along the curved canal underneath. Several shops were located down here. He stopped by all of them. Pretending he's looking at the merchandise, he placed a piece of paper with a note scribbled on it in a chest of each shop and then continued up the wooden stairs into the center of Riften. The morning breeze was surprisingly nice and fresh here. The usual Riften mist was not there and Samuel noticed that the city gates were open. It was awfully quiet and he knew the moment he'd climbed up the stairs that something was wrong.

The vendors and shopkeepers he passed gave him a surprised look as he walked past them, somehow telling him that he was not supposed to be there. Samuel met no other locals on the streets but noticed two hooded figures just outside the Black-Briar Meadery. It was never a good sign to see strange hooded figures so he hid behind a corner and kept watching them for a while. His eyes caught a glimpse of pale skin and a thin face underneath the black hood of one of them. High elves. The cautious looks of the local vendors silently peeking in the way of the two Thalmor could only mean that these are not welcome guests.

Samuel shook his head and made his way to the wooden door of Haelga's Bunkhouse. She was supposed to host a special guest today. Samuel's target was something in his possession. He entered the house and the grumpy face of Haelga behind the wooden counter welcomed him right away.

"This is no place for kids," she snapped. "Especially not at this time so get out."

Her face displayed signs of weariness and her dress seemed somewhat ragged and untidy which was unusual for this woman who liked to maintain her good appearance.

"I was sent by Constance Michel to deliver this," Samuel said with a smile, innocence framing his round face. He handed out a paper with a sloppy painting of Dibella. He drew it himself last night despite knowing well that he was bad at drawing. His brown eyes widened a little as he tried to look as pure and innocent as only a clueless child can be. "One of the kids in the orphanage drew this and she thought you might like it."

Haelga took the paper in her hands and turned it over a few times. Not really looking at the picture, she pointed at the entrance door behind him. "Thanks. And now get out."

Without saying goodbye she turned around. Samuel used this moment to open the door, close it again, sneak past the counter and up the stairs to the right. The special guest should be the only person up there today which made his work easier. Or at least he thought it would.

Having reached the upper floor, he did not have to search for long to find a lone figure sitting on a bed in the guest room on the left. Samuel gasped when he realized that the man he was staring at was an Altmer, his deep blue hood hiding most of his face.

 _Wait… that's not right. The special guest is a Thalmor? I'm supposed to steal from a Thalmor?!_

He was frantically searching his memory for any clues about this that lady Aislinn could have pointed out. There were none.

 _Did she trick me?_ he thought to himself. _If this guy catches me, I'm not going to jail, he'll kill me right away! The Nine know that they show no mercy. What are they doing here anyway?_

He froze when the elf suddenly moved. Holding his breath, he watched the Altmer get up on his feet, exposing his full height which was definitely above average, and slowly walk to the door on the other side of the room. Samuel knew that this might the only chance he gets. With his face going pale as the skin of a snow elf, he crouched and silently crept to the bed the special guest had been sitting on a while ago. He located a small chest beneath it. Luckily it wasn't locked. The package was there, intact. A piece of thin rose-colored cloth covered it, a string of bast rope holding it in place.

Samuel heard movement behind him. His face even paler than before, his lips tightly pressed together, he crawled back to the corridor and just barely evaded confrontation with Haelga. He had a hard time climbing down the stairs and at one moment he was sure that one of the two people in the house had to hear the creaking sound of him stepping on the last of the loose wood blocks fashioning a great part of the steps. He came almost running to the entrance door and quickly left the house. Down the stairs to the wharfs again, enter the Ratway, sneak his way past the bandits who somehow always managed to find their way here and appear from thin air, and finally enter the Ragged Flagon. He came panting as he saw Aislinn wave at him.

"Good job out there," she smiled. "Deceiving three merchants and one bastard hostess like a professional. So, do you have it?"

"You deceived me!" he shouted at her, angry sparks in his dark brown eyes. "You wanted me dead!"

A confused look displayed in Aislinn's golden eyes when she replied. "If I wanted you dead, I'd have no problem killing you right away," she said quietly.

"Then you just love to see the scared faces of your struggling victims?" he hissed.

Shock replaced Aislinn's confusion. "A kid shouldn't talk like that. No, a kid shouldn't even think like that. For the sake of Nocturnal, how did you come up with this?"

"You didn't mention that the special guest would be a Thalmor." Samuel's voice sounded broken, betrayed. He gave Aislinn a look she knew far too well. A memory of a charred body, probably still lying in the depths of Falkreath Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood, flashed through her mind. But she had had a reason. Samuel was wrong. At least partially.

"I… what?!" she stared at him and then slowly turned to Delvin Mallory. "That wasn't a part of the deal, Delvin."

He looked just as startled. "No… it wasn't. But at least," a slight smile formed on his lips, "you know you've found yourself a damn good thief." He gave Samuel an impressed look.

Aislinn didn't look amused. "Do you have the package?" she asked Samuel. She knew he did. He would never return if he didn't have it. She could see the pride in his eyes, the determination to break out of his orphan shell and show the people around what he could do. He was like her. Not wanting to succumb to the cruelty of the world, not wanting to stay behind and wait to see the world make a move on its own. He was the one who was supposed to make that move. He was the one who would change the world and make it his own.

Samuel hesitated before handing the package over to Aislinn. She took it and examined it carefully. Delvin reached his hand for it but instead of passing it to him, Aislinn started removing the bast rope and the cloth.

"Boss, what in Oblivion are you doing? We're supposed to hand this over to the client! Intact!" Despite him trying to sound as though he only wanted to remind her of how the Guild worked, she could almost touch the urge in his voice.

Aislinn knew the moment she felt the familiar shape of the object in her hand that she couldn't just give it away.

"Who is the client?" she asked.

"You know I can't tell you that," Delvin replied, averting his eyes. "You have to give it to me. Hopefully he won't realize we opened it. For Nocturnal's sake, I'm begging you, boss."

"This deal is far more important than you made it out to be." There was no apparent emotion in Aislinn's voice but Delvin still felt the reproach in her look.

"It is. And I had no idea you'd send a kid to take care of it. Sometimes I figure it might be more useful to just pretend it's a piece of cake. Guess I'll have to be more careful with you. Nocturnal knows that you tend to do all sorts of crazy things." He sighed with a resigned expression.

Aislinn raised her right hand holding a strange trinket that looked like a dragon claw made out of a pearl. "I'm not returning this," she said resolutely. "Not yet, at least."

"Boss…"

"Is that a dragon claw?" A voice echoed from the direction of the secret way to the Cistern. Brynjolf has come to join the party, his brows raised in an inquisitive manner.

"Not you too, Brynjolf," moaned Delvin.

"You know it?" asked Aislinn curiously.

"Aren't these supposed open the ancient Nord tombs? Just what do you want to do with something like this, lass?"

"Didn't you just answer your own question, Brynjolf? I'm going to open a tomb with this."

"Boss, what do you think this guild is? Some kind of tomb raiders association?" asked Delvin with the same doubtful look he had given her last night when she'd assigned Samuel for the mission.

"Now now, Delvin," said Brynjolf in a calming tone. "You know far too well that our lass isn't just a thief."

"Yeah, I know she loves adventures, fighting dragons and all that big stuff. But this is interfering with our business."

"Who is your client?" Aislinn repeated her question.

There was a silence.

"Delvin, who in Tamriel could order the Thieves Guild to recover a dragon claw from a Thalmor? Speak, because I'm running out of patience."

"Listen," said Delvin in a cranky voice. "Endon met this gal in Markarth. Apparently she was all mysterious and didn't show her face for a single moment but she paid him a small fortune just to get this. Said it was about some inheritance or something. We can't afford to fail this deal."

"Right. I'm off to Markarth then."

"You gonna return it?" There was a tiny bit of hope in Delvin's voice.

"Depends," Aislinn answered, her face shifting between smirking and a playful smile. "I wanna know what's going on here. I don't like it. There are far too many Thalmor in Riften at the moment and now they're messing with the Guild. And," her eyes turned to the claw, still in her hands, "then there's the tomb. There's a reason why these claws are _dragon_ claws, you know."

"If you're expecting to find a dragon there, I must disappoint you," Delvin snorted. "Dragons don't usually live underground, you know."

"But the dragon priests do, my dear Delvin," she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "And they usually have something I find extremely valuable."

Another doubtful look from Delvin's direction.

"What's the point of returning this anyway? It's useless to normal people, there's barely anyone who would dare make their way through the hordes of draugr just to enter some ancient tomb."

"I don't think that's any of our business," replied Delvin wryly.

"Don't you worry, Delvin. I'm going to see this through and… deal with this client so you don't have to lose your sleep over the Guild's future," Aislinn said in a comforting voice. Delvin didn't seem convinced, however.

"Wait, lass. I'm going to go with you and make sure everything goes smoothly." Brynjolf's figure suddenly appeared next to Aislinn. She raised her brows but decided not to comment on that. She had the feeling that Brynjolf did not understand his decision all that well himself, but the thieves were sometimes spontaneous, just like their fickle patron of luck.

"What about me?" a question came from the little Samuel who was standing there for the whole conversation, his eyes roving between Delvin and Aislinn. "I tricked a Thalmor. Maybe I can kill a dragon too."

Aislinn chuckled. "It's nice to have big dreams," she smiled at him tenderly, stroking him on the wild shag of his hair. "If you hate it in the orphanage, you can stay here, but there's no way I'm taking you with us."

"I want to roam the world as well," Samuel pleaded. "Please, lady Aislinn. Let me go with you. I can be of use. I can prepare meals for you and do all kinds of work. Lady… I mean Grelod taught me well. I hated it but we had to be useful if we wanted to escape punishment… so I can do a lot."

"I believe you, Sam. I really do but this is no place for a kid. There are things even I have problems dealing with out there. I can't have you getting in the way at a time like that. Stay here and learn what you can. Work hard and your time will surely come." Aislinn grabbed an empty sack from a chest nearby and filled it with coins from her own. "Take this and use it for the training and food. Don't waste it. You'll be on your own when you've spent it all."

Doubts and restraint showed in Samuel's face.

"Don't be like that," she scolded him softly. "You're a thief now and thief shows no restraint. Take what you get. You won't get so many chances like this."

He slowly took the sack.

Without saying another word, Aislinn turned to the secret passage to the Cistern. Brynjolf followed her silently, seemingly ready to leave right away. Another mystery. No matter what, Brynjolf was always ready. As if he was expecting what was going to happen. He never failed.

They marched through the Cistern together, climbed up the wooden ladder on the right side of the room and opened the secret way out. Aislinn froze when she heard two sweet elven voices talking in the cemetery. She crouched and pressed herself to the cold pale stone of the sarcophagus and Brynjolf followed promptly.

"This one is done," said one of them. "The others in the Rift are sure to follow. We should be on our way soon."

"Do you think it's wise to leave just like this?" the other one asked. A female voice, a bit higher and sweeter than the other one. Suddenly Aislinn thought that this voice had the taste of an almond. "They spotted the Dragonborn here. This could be our chance."

Brynjolf gave his companion a meaningful look. Her brows furrowed.

"Leave the Dragonborn be," the man said. "She might not look like much but she's dangerous. I don't see how you'd defeat her when she's capable of taking down a fort all by herself. Don't worry, Elenwen has a way to deal with her. Our time will come soon."

The voices faded as their owners walked away. Aislinn carefully stuck out her head and took an examining look at the cemetery. Several corpses lay nearby a headless statue that was once the shrine of Talos. She stared at them in shock.

"They… they are killing people for worshipping Talos."

Brynjolf shrugged.

She stared at him in disbelief. "I know they were sending them into prisons… but this time they actually killed a bunch. Does that seem all right to you?"

"One would think you'd be more bothered by the Dragonborn talk, my lass," he stated unscrupulously. "It's the Dominion we're talking about. If they ever had restraints, it wasn't out of mercy."

She frowned. "I don't think we're going to be able to enter Markarth through the main gate anymore," she said. "Nor is it going to be easy to find our contact."

"Of course not. But the world would be boring if things were always easy, don't you think?" He winked at her.

"Right…" she said slowly, trying to get over his lightheaded attitude. She pulled her hood over her head. There was a nice stalhrim helmet resting in her backpack but she didn't dare put it on, knowing there were at least two hungry Thalmor watching out for her wandering about. Sneakily the two of them got out of the city. Aislinn knew she couldn't ride Shadowmere to Markarth and didn't even attempt to make contact with him. They crossed the lake beneath the south gate, eyes open and walked with the shadows. This was going to be a long trip they were about to make. A trip that could possibly change many lives.

* * *

 _And so the second chapter is over. Thanks for reading it, thanks for all your likes and wait for the next chapter. I'm still waiting eagerly for your reviews so don't hesitate to send me your opinions. I would much appreciate them._

 _I'll start working on my next chapter in just a moment but I cannot promise I'll release one every day. Still, stay tuned. It'll get better._

 _Thanks for all your support. :)_


	3. The Fear and the Needs

**Chapter 3: The Fear and the Needs**

A thundering roar shook the ground beneath Aislinn's feet. A shade came across her face as a dragon cut through the sunlight, his mighty wings tearing through the air with a humming sound. Brynjolf drew his bow in a flash but she put her hand on his.

"It's not going to attack," she said calmly. "You don't have to tempt it."

"Is that fine with you? Aren't you the Dragonborn? The one who's supposed to kill the beasts?" he asked with a bit of uncertainty in his voice.

"I was supposed to kill one beast in particular. No prophecy or contract stated that I was supposed to kill all the dragons." She said it as if it was a given thing. _The Dragonborn is not the same as a dragonslayer._ "And, you know, technically I should treat them the same as people. There is dragon blood running through my veins, after all. I'm killing my own kind."

"Quite the fella now, aren't ya," Brynjolf chuckled. "I never noticed you had a problem killing people before."

"Hey!" she snapped. "I actually differentiate between them. I only kill those who try to kill me… or those whose name is on my contract at that moment."

"Right. When are you gonna start differentiating between dragons then?"

"You know… I barely get the chance to talk to them. They're not so communicative. And," she added sheepishly, "I don't actually understand their language all that well."

"Of course. They're beasts. Why would you understand a beast language?" Obviously, Brynjolf didn't see her lack of knowledge as a problem. It irritated her. She had been questioning herself many times about how she cannot speak in the dragon tongue, always coming to the conclusion that this was a weakness of hers she absolutely had to take care of. Alduin had mentioned it himself once upon a time and although she did not want to admit his point, it did plant a seed of doubt in her and that seed kept growing into a fine plant and spreading its roots and branches far and wide.

"Right. Then you might agree with me that those beasts are an important part of the food chain." She averted her gaze and fixed her eyes on a snowy mountain top located south-west from their location. He rolled his eyes.

They had been traveling for a day now, trying to avoid the main roads in case the Thalmor were searching for Aislinn there. She was sure they were and grateful that Brynjolf accompanied her. He would keep watch when she slept and guard her back on the road, always watching out, informing her of the slightest details she could have missed. Even in the wilds, his thief instincts were legendary. A bear guarding its young ones, barely visible from their point of view, a lurking sabre cat lying in ambush, silently waiting for its prey, which he recognized by the way a nearby bush had been broken. A treacherous pit covered by a set of wobbly rocks, leaves and soil, almost looking like a natural part of the scenery. He made her feel safe and secure. It was a nice change. She was used to traveling alone since most of the people offering her help just kept getting in the way when things got rough, but it sure was nice to have someone watch her back when there was a whole nation searching for her, although they had not met a single high elf so far and she would prefer it to stay that way.

She was not surprised by the fact that the Thalmor were after her. In fact, she would have expected them to hunt her down a long time ago. But that was the problem. Why now? What had changed? And why all the aggression when the White-Gold Concordat was still in effect? Or was it?

That's right, she had killed the Emperor. If the Thalmor took the murder of Titus Mede II. as an act of aggression against themselves, it might be possible for them to take action against Skyrim. Who would they blame? The Dark Brotherhood? Skyrim citizens? Or everyone outside the Aldmeri Dominion?

"Just what have I done…" she muttered to herself. It took Brynjolf's surprised stare for her to realize she'd said that out loud. She turned red as she looked at him.

"Don't… don't mind it. Just thinking out loud."

Brynjolf's gaze was full of suspicion. _I don't buy that,_ it said.

"You're not usually one to regret things." No question mark.

"I don't usually have time to regret things," she replied, a slight undertone of sarcasm in her voice. "Sometimes I don't even have time to make proper decisions. It's just so strange… we keep waiting and waiting for the right time… and when it comes, we don't manage to make the right call. What kind of world is that?"

"Hah," he snorted, half amused, a pair of tiny sparks dancing in his eyes. "Give it a break. You think too much."

"I get that a lot," she stated abruptly.

 _Yes, Dovakhiin. What kind of world is that?_ A voice echoed in her head, filling her with countless thoughts and emotions. She wasn't sure if it was one voice or many of them. It was mighty, a roaring thunder pressing itself to the flanks of her shaken mind, filling her with strange energy, anger and anxiety. _Maybe you'd like to make it better? Maybe you'd like to make it fairer? More balanced? Anything you want, Dovakhiin… anything you want. You do have the power. Almost._

Aislinn gasped, shivers running down her spine. She would have tripped if it wasn't for a birch tree standing right next to her. She clung to it, breathing heavily. The last bit of color vanished from her face as she caught a glimpse of Brynjolf's concerned expression.

"What happened?" he asked. "You don't look too good. Are you all right? Do you feel sick?"

"I…" she took a deep breath. "No, I'm not sick. It's probably nothing. A daydream, maybe. Illusion. Or something like that. Maybe I'm just a little tired."

"We've been on our feet all day long. It's no wonder." He gave her an understanding nod. "Let's set up a camp."

Beyond his deep turquoise eyes, there were those words again. _I don't buy that._ She noticed how he tried to hide them. So he was the kind of guy who would respect the others' privacy. Should she appreciate it? Or did she actually want him to care more? She wasn't sure.

They set up a camp near a cavern where it seemed safe enough. The sky was clear, its blue spreading from one horizon to another interrupted only by the scattered tree branches standing in their view, but both of them knew that Skyrim weather could be treacherous. Neither of them bothered burdening themselves with a tent so Aislinn picked up a few pine branches and made a cheap-looking roof supported by three oak trees which served as pillars while Brynjolf prepared some food.

"Spruce would be better," said Brynjolf with a criticizing look, nodding in the direction of their artificial tent.

"Well, if you can pull out some spruce branches out of thin air, go ahead. Otherwise we'll have to stick with what we can find," Aislinn said with a razor-sharp voice. She was sitting on a wide boulder near the cave entrance, gazing up at the sky and at her red-headed companion in turns. "And, just for the record, it wouldn't hurt if you just put a tiny bit of salt on that meat," she said just critically as she bit into a piece of plain boiled hare meat the thief had handed her a while ago.

"If you can pull salt out of thin air, go ahead. Otherwise we'll just have to stick with what we got," he mimicked her pointed voice.

She chuckled. He did too. Both of them finished their meal, got up again and once more searched the area for any kind of danger that could threaten them during the night. Everything seemed to be in order. Brynjolf insisted that he take the first watch so Aislinn lay on a piece of cloth spread over a pile of oak leaves. She felt exhausted. Her dragon blood usually didn't let her get this tired but this time it seemed it _was_ the dragon blood that drained energy from her, replacing it with a different kind that made her tremble. Still, the comforting slumber did not come. She was scared to sleep. Scared that the voice from before might return if she falls asleep.

 _How pathetic,_ she thought to herself. _Send a horde of angry draugr after me, send a giant spider, a dragon, a dremora, I'll defeat them all. I let mages use my body for experiments and I went as far as Sovngarde or the Soul Cairn… but right now, the thing I'm scared of the most is actually me… or something inside me. I can't run away from myself. There's no place to hide. Just what in Oblivion am I supposed to do?_

She curled up, facing the outer wall of the cave. Suddenly, she noticed a movement nearby. She turned around but before she could even draw a weapon, a silver arrow made its way through Brynjolf's collar. She gasped before noticing that the arrow had missed his neck. Drawing her bow, she sent a black arrow blindly in the direction where the one shot at Brynjolf had come from. There was a thud and then silence. Aislinn jumped on her feet, both hands at the hilts of her two swords. She drew them the moment a bear attacked. Slaying it with three fast hits, she jumped over it and proceeded to the corpse behind it. It was a young huntress. She lay there with her arms cast about, dark hair spread all over in a cone of strands and curls, her bow beside her. Aislinn shook her head. A life taken in vain, another one among the many that she had taken and she would probably take in the future.

"Can you believe a hunter's arrow almost got me? Just because it missed the bear it was supposed to hit." Brynjolf sounded more surprised than shaken. Aislinn slapped him in his face.

"Don't you dare die on me!" she snapped. "You… you… oh gods…" She exhaled. "A hunter's arrow, Brynjolf. Just what were you doing there?! Here I got scared we got ambushed!"

"Sorry," he said simply.

 _Sorry,_ she shouted in her mind. _Sorry! Is he serious?_

She examined his collar.

"I think you need better protection," she said, slowly regaining her composure. Maybe he did know the arrow wouldn't hit him. Maybe he had calculated its path. Or maybe Nocturnal had decided to display her whimsy, rewarding him for his unconditional loyalty.

"What? You trying to say I can't take care of myself?" he grunted. Aislinn could not tell if he was serious or meant it as a joke, but the thief seemed calm, inspecting his collar with an innocent curiosity in his face.

"That's not what I'm saying but you got a point there," she pointed out ironically. He gave her an aggrieved look. "But if a mere hunter's arrow can go through your collar, then it means your armor is pretty much useless." She pointed at his rather old beige belted leather thief armor ragged in several places to the point that it looked like it was going to turn into dust.

"Don't you dare start me on that," he raised his voice slightly. "I've had this since I was… well… I've had it for as long as I can remember and I'm not giving it away."

"You don't have to give it away, for Talos's grace," she gave out an exhausted sigh. "Just put it to rest and wear something safer. If it's that precious to you, you wouldn't want it to get destroyed on the road anyway, right?"

He raised a brow. "Now you're trying to sweet-talk me? You're a hundred years early to do that, my dear lass."

"Fine!" she snapped again. "Just do what you want, die and have the skeevers eat off your corpse for all I care!"

"All right, all right, I'll change my armor, okay?" He raised his palms in a defensive gesture. "It's just that I don't have any with me."

"I have plenty at my house near Falkreath and there's also a pile of stuff we can use to make one. We're going to pass it anyway so we might as well stop by."

"Isn't that too dangerous? The Thalmor are looking for you, you know."

"Oh come on. We're heading for Markarth, the safest city in Skyrim. Meaning that if they catch us there, the chances that we'll manage to escape are close to none. And you think my house is dangerous? Besides, they have no reason to look for me at my houses. I barely visit them anyway and it would be pure madness to stop by there."

He stared at her. "Do you realize what you just said?"

"Yep. Where's the problem?"

"You're just going to perform an act of pure madness, as you named it yourself."

"Of course. Isn't that brilliant?"

He rolled his eyes.

There was a fear Aislinn did not dare to express. She was filled with anxiety just thinking about the state she could find the house in. Screw the house for all she cared. But the two little girls who lived there… her only family. Two girls she had picked up, one on the streets, the other one in the orphanage. Her sweet darlings, the very center of all the innocence in her life. She made daggers for them, the best kind there was. But she doubted that a dragonbone dagger in the hands of a small girl would be enough to stop any potential attackers.

 _Rayya,_ she prayed, thinking of her Redguard housecarl and her curved sword. _I'm counting on you_

* * *

The next morning the two of them headed to the mountains south of High Hrothgar. The weather seemed to work against them. Strong wind from the mountains made them lose their balance several times, mercilessly whipping their faces, drawing occasional tears from their eyes, and myriads of snowflakes flew about violently biting their skin wherever they touched it. Aislinn did not risk Shouting to clear the skies. She wasn't the only one capable of using the Thu'um but she didn't want to provide her enemies with any clues on how to find her if she could help it. They kept floundering breathlessly through the relentless drifts of freshly fallen snow which gave way under their feet whenever they least expected it. Most of the day had passed when they reached Helgen.

"This brings back memories," Aislinn murmured, her gaze sliding from one destroyed building to another, studying the fallen roofs, burned walls, dark stains marking the spots where the heat from Alduin's breath got the better of them, and remains of pillars sorrowfully aspiring to the skies they could never reach.

Brynjolf kept silent, looking around cautiously. They walked side by side through the ruins of what should have become Aislinn's execution site. She shivered. Time seemed to have stopped at this place. It was just as she remembered. And it was quiet. No birds chirping on the roofs, even the wind seemed to have ceased its advance. Aislinn sped up. She heard Brynjolf take a deep breath when they'd finally reached the end of the ravaged town.

"You want to ask me something," she said to him. It wasn't a question.

"Well…" he hesitated.

"Go ahead."

"Just… is it true that they wanted to behead you here?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Why? What did you do?"

"I… don't remember. I guess I was just in a wrong place at a wrong time. But I only remember glimpses of my previous life. It's like I didn't even exist before. I remember feelings… emotions… fragments of the things that might have hurt me or pleased me." She looked frightened for a moment, waiting timidly for his reaction, but he didn't comment on that. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or if it deepened her fears even further.

"The Imperials wanted you dead, right? How come you joined them afterwards?"

She stared at him, startled a little by his question.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…" he started apologizing.

She shook her head and smiled reassuringly. It was she, after all, who insisted that he asked.

"I think I was scared of Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Scared? _You_ were scared?" Pure disbelief reflected in his eyes.

"Well, not exactly scared. But he was too greedy and too powerful. What if he became the High King? Would he drive out everyone who didn't belong to the Nord race? Would he try to take down the Emperor just like he took down king Torygg? He fought for the right thing but chose the wrong way. And just so you know," she added with an apologetic expression, "I don't quite agree with the Empire's way either. It's just that I chose the side I considered less bad."

He nodded. "It must be hard to play the part of the hero."

"I didn't have to. At least not in this case. But even I sometimes feel the urge to fight for the right thing."

"An honorable thief."

She laughed.

* * *

The night passed without anyone disturbing their sleep. When they set out for the next stage of their journey, the sun was flooding the horizon behind their backs with golden light. It felt pleasant after the terrible weather that had been slowing them down the previous day. Soon they arrived at the Lakeview Manor, Aislinn's house. She knew right away something was wrong. Her stomach tumbled as she reached out her hand to stop Brynjolf from advancing.

It was quiet, no humming or swishing sounds of the wings, no buzzing when a bee decided to tend to a blossoming flower. The air was still and the tree branches refrained from their usual whispers.

 _No… gods, please no…_

She crouched and sneaked past the stables. There lay the corpse of her horse. The cow's corpse was not just a few feet away and a lot of chicken feathers covered the ground. She climbed the wooden stairs to the terrace facing the lake down below the slope underneath and discovered a body. Her eyes widened when she realized the man before her was still alive. She recognized her bard, a dark-haired Nord with a gentle face and the voice of a nightingale by whose name he was called. She put her hands over him and released a healing spell. A sound of coughing came from underneath.

"You… my lady…"

"Llewellyn. What happened here? Where are the others? Please, tell me they're not dead!" Aislinn resisted the urge to shake his body, gulping slightly to get rid of the rough bundle that had decided to settle down in her throat and make her choke on her own words.

"The Thalmor. They came so suddenly…" the bard could hardly breathe. Aislinn used a second healing spell and handed him several potions. "I couldn't do anything. They used an odd spell. Some kind of mist. It didn't really affect us but it did throw us in disarray. Rayya took Runa and ran for it. We were supposed to meet in Whiterun but I never even managed to get on my feet. I pretended I was dead just to save my life." His voice was overflowing with pure despair, the feeling of regret reaching Aislinn's senses.

"Lucia," she pressed him for answers. "Where is she?"

A tear slid down the bard's cheek. "They took her with them."

"Alive?"

"As far as I can remember, yes."

Aislinn closed her eyes in horror.

"I have to go save her," she said resolutely.

"Have you gone crazy?" Brynjolf hissed, his brows knit to form a two wrinkles in between, a sign of warning and cautious fear. "You want to play their game? Don't let them have it their way!"

"Brynjolf, this isn't about letting them. I don't have a choice. They will hurt her!"

"Okay, let's just calm down now–"

"For the Nine's sake, how do you expect me to calm down?!" she cried. "They kidnapped my daughter!"

Brynjolf blinked in surprise. "Your what? No… never mind. I can ask some other time. But I can't have you storm in their ranks, even if you are the Dragonborn. They probably want to use her as a hostage. Which means they can't hurt her that much until they find you. Your best shot is to stay hidden for the time being."

"Can't hurt her _that much_?! You… you're not serious, are you?" she exhaled.

"Dead serious, lass," he replied softly. She winced at his expression, not being used to seeing compassion in his gaze.

"I have to admit I agree with your friend here, my lady," Llewellyn said. The healing potions apparently took effect as he finally sat up and looked around carefully, his eyes stopping at every trunk and boulder, searching every bush to find potential perils. "You are important for the people of Skyrim and if the Thalmor get you, we lose our hope. I know Lucia is precious to you but you might as well have both of you killed if you take some rash action now."

Aislinn clenched her fists. "I will get her back, I swear."

"Aye," Brynjolf agreed. "When the time is right for it."

"Are Rayya and Runa going to be safe in Whiterun?" Aislinn turned her head back to Llewellyn. "The Thalmor are everywhere. If what we heard is true, they're searching all the Rift and probably all Skyrim."

"Whiterun is going to be safe. Jarl Balgruuf will not let the Thalmor take over."

"I'm not too sure if he can hold up against them for long," came a doubtful reply. "If I can ask you one last favor… please, get there as fast as you can and tell Rayya and Lydia to hide. A cave, a mine, an ancient fort, anywhere outside of the towns and cities is fine. You can go with them if you want to. Just don't let the Thalmor get you."

"It will be my pleasure," he bowed as he stood up. "Just promise me you won't do anything reckless. These are dark times and it's becoming worse. You are the last beacon of hope for us, even if you're just there, watching over us. We need you, Dragonborn."

 _We need you._ Those words again. People always need her. As if the world couldn't do without her. How can it be that the fate of the world rests upon the shoulders of a single mortal, an insignificant being with no more power than a single dragon out of the many that roam the skies? She shivered. _I have needs too, you know. I have a life and a family… I worked hard to create all this. How can you just rid me of them so easily?_

"The bard's gone," she heard Brynjolf's voice. It sounded distant but awfully close at the same time. "Shall we look if we can still find an armor for me?"

She almost forgot. Together they entered the house quietly and headed to the storage room.

"I take it you prefer light armor over heavy?" she inquired, her eyes scanning the room thoroughly, stopping at the dusty showcases and chests that scattered all around in a disorderly manner. Occasionally she would open a lid and inspect the insides.

"If I can help it, aye."

"Not good," she said and left the room. There was a breathtaking set of daedric armor on a wooden figurine in the main hall, wrinkled by elegant lines of crimson color that gleamed slightly even if no light was cast upon them. One of the figurines in the cellar wore an astonishing ebony armor enchanted with a strange magic whose shape Brynjolf couldn't really tell as it seemed to blend into the surrounding air in steams of dark mist.

"They're remarkable, I'll admit. But I don't think I'll be able to wear this."

"Then I guess we have to make one. It doesn't seem like the Thalmor took anything at all from here, that's good. There should be a bunch of materials to make a whole new set in those chests over there. Hold on."

She opened one of the chests lying along the walls and searched through its contents. Then her eyes widened and a sudden gasp made Brynjolf almost jump in the air.

"What is it?"

"I collected a bunch of dragon bones and dragon scales here. I thought they might make a good armor… but these… I've never seen anything like this. They went bad."

"What? How can a skeleton go bad? Let me have look at them…"

He crossed the room and took a peek in the chest. The same gasp escaped his lungs when he examined the contents. It was barely visible that the things inside used to be dragon bones. They fell apart as he grabbed them. Some kind of strange greenish matter covered most of their surface and he could see through the unnatural holes in them which appeared to have been made by some kind of acid.

"Just what did they do to them?" he asked, holding his breath unconsciously.

"It doesn't make sense. Everything else seems intact," she opposed in denial, perplexed and confused. There was barely anything that could compare to dragon bones when it came to sustaining any kind of damage from outside. Just what in Tamriel could have caused them to crumble apart?

"But the dragon bones don't just rot away, do they?"

"I don't know… anyway, we need to make you an armor. I could make you a stalhrim one if you don't mind looking just like me."

"Can't you just change the design a little?" He winked at her.

"What, would you feel ashamed if you looked just like me?"

"More like too honored, my lady." He bowed.

"Stop it. You're freaking me out."

"Haha. Make it your way then, lass."

She smiled to herself as she turned away from him and searched another chest for the right materials. _I must have gone crazy._ The thought of Brynjolf bowing to her and calling her "my lady" seemed strangely appealing to her. Not that he would ever mean it.

Carefully she placed a set of ingots, leather strips and other materials next to each other on an empty shelf situated in the alcove in the wall opposite of the chest she had just almost emptied. Then she opened another one beside the alcove. A simple fur armor lay there along with a pair of bracers, a silver necklace and a ring. She could feel the enchantment magic vibrating through them as she grabbed them.

"Would you mind waiting upstairs for me?" she asked Brynjolf a little shyly. "I need to change into a more suitable outfit."

"Can I come back after you change? I'd very much like to see you working on it." His curious gaze was back. That was Brynjolf, always studying everything, always gaining new knowledge.

"All right but don't you dare criticize my working methods." She pointed a finger at him as a warning.

"I solemnly swear that I am going to be a good boy."

She raised a brow. He backed away to the ladder leading upstairs.

She called to him when she had changed. The moment he climbed the ladder back down he froze.

"This thing is pretty… revealing," he muttered, feeling at loss of the words. Her brows furrowed at the statement as she took a hammer in one hand and a piece of stalhrim in the other and turned to the small forge in the middle of the room. Focusing on her work, she did not notice him staring at her. He didn't manage to grasp even the basics of what she was doing. Unable to concentrate, his head was overflowing with images of her in this simple attire. Looking at her slender arms and her beautifully curved body, her pale skin which contrasted with the dark brown leather, he would have never guessed she was a fighter. She must have been a mirage, an illusion that Dibella sent as one of her pranks. He started noticing details. A darker spot on her chest which emerged from the hide as a tender slope of fair skin, the way she leaned a little to her left, the shoulder a few inches below the right one, her curvy thighs with elongated muscles indicating regular exercising. Her smooth movements which sounded like a whisper of the spring breeze.

 _Damn it, lass, this is not fair. Not in the least. I'm a filthy thief, here on business, coincidentally helping you with your mission for_ higher purposes _. You can't do this to me. Thieves have needs too, you know…_

He closed his eyes. It didn't help. Seeing it once was enough for his mind to carve the image into his memory.

He jumped in surprise when Aislinn suddenly touched his shoulder.

"Just what do you think you're doing here?" she asked with a demanding voice. "And here I thought you'd be interested in smithing. If you find it so boring, you can just go sleep upstairs. There are beds available you know."

"Uh, yeah, sorry 'bout that, lass," he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

"Anyway, your armor is ready. Try it on."

"Wait, seriously? So fast?"

"We spent quite some time here if you didn't notice, but I did learn some tricks. Especially with this." She tapped the icy surface of the armor with her fingers.

He took it from her and examined it carefully. The shimmering blue icy matter which formed most of it seemed harder than any steel he'd seen before but much lighter at the same time. The waist and the joints were made up of several layers which allowed them to bend according to the needs of its wearer. Several parts were joined by pieces of fine leather and soft fur filled the inside to make the armor comfortable.

"Sorry," she apologized hesitantly. "I'm not really good with decorations so this is about all I can do." She pointed at a small carving on the left side of the armor, right under the arm.

The word "Brynjolf" was scribbled there along with something in the Dragon Language.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing at the Dragon Language carving.

"The first Shout I'd ever learned," she said, a bit of pride in her voice. "This is how I found out I was the Dragonborn."

"You carved a Shout into my armor?"

"I did."

He chuckled and shook his head. "You're unbelievable."

"Should I be offended now?"

"Who knows," he chuckled again. "You'd do well to get some sleep now. I'll keep watch. Oh, and don't forget to change before you leave here or you're gonna freeze to death." _And freeze me for an entirely different reason._

"You don't say," she replied in a sweet voice.

He left the room and she changed back to her own stalhrim armor. She then climbed up the ladder and had a quick dinner. Brynjolf waited for her upstairs. They agreed that the bedroom downstairs wasn't a good choice for a rest since there weren't any escape routes in case someone attacked them there so she used one of the smaller beds upstairs, close to the door leading to the terrace where they had found Llewellyn. Brynjolf sat down on the other one, watching his Dragonborn companion slowly fall into the dreamland. As the night shifted, the two of them switched places and Aislinn kept watch until the morning sun climbed up the eastern horizon. Neither of them got much sleep but they both knew time was working against them.

They left the house feeling worn-out and weary. It was a long way to Markarth and there were sure to be many obstacles waiting for them. And for the first time in her memory, Aislinn was fighting a real fear in her heart.


	4. The New Dawn

**Chapter 4: The New Dawn**

It was dusk when Aislinn and Brynjolf entered the Reach. To their right, Fort Sungard stood proudly, casting a long shadow on the ground, its silhouette resemblant to a mighty beast threatening to engulf the two of them in eternal darkness. The sun was setting slowly and Aislinn could vaguely make out the outline of Bard's Leap Summit, in her memory astonishingly beautiful with its tall waterfalls similar to diamond showers and fresh greenery that was almost suffocating for one used to the cramped Nordic barrows and steamy Dwemer cities. Basking in the last remaining rays of sunlight, Aislinn's cheeks turned the same crimson color that hemmed the western horizon.

It was not easy to avoid the main roads here. The mountains didn't provide too many paths for them and they found themselves running into dead ends countless times, circling around only to be welcomed by a wall of rocks, a cavern or, in the most dangerous cases, a cliff where they could be easily spotted if gazed upon.

"Sheogorath's mad eyes, this is driving me crazy!" Aislinn hissed, running out of patience. "If I could just storm there, get rid of everyone who gets in my freaking way and get this all over with…"

"Now now, lass, let's not be too hasty," Brynjolf tried to comfort her, too aware of her habit to recklessly force her way through pretty much anything. "We're thieves, remember? Finding alternatives should be our specialty. Take it as a challenge."

"There is no alternative, Brynjolf." She crossed her arms in a rebellious posture. "There are mountains neither of us can possibly climb on both sides. The only way goes through that valley which is, sadly, occupied by a band of Forsworn. And I'm tired of hiding. Why can't we just deal with them? It's not like the thieves specialize in crossing this kind of land anyway."

"You'd have to kill every single one of them to make sure no-one finds out about us. You can never tell when one of these guys joins forces with someone from the Dominion."

"The Forsworn joining up with the Thalmor?" she sneered. "Don't make me laugh. These guys are more thick-headed than the most orthodox Stormcloaks."

"There were traitors even among the Stormcloaks," he opposed. "Deceit is a powerful weapon, you know."

She didn't have an answer to that. Aislinn understood the situation just as well as Brynjolf did, but the constant walking in circles, unable to find a way out and move just a bit forward, was quickly getting to her. She wasn't used to hiding at all. Before, she'd had no official criminal record and she hadn't had to pretend she didn't even exist. Walked into a group of enemies? Just run around and deal with them one after another. Or execute a few sneak attacks to get rid of them without them even noticing. No-one would make a fuss over it. It was different now.

She sighed, turning her head to the valley below them and then back to Brynjolf. She heard him gasp a little and before she could react, the feeling of a cold sharp object touching her skin in the area of her throat got to her. She froze.

A honeyed male voice whispered to her ears.

"Either you come with us willingly or we take you by force. Your call but there a dozen of us and I don't think you can do much in your position." She could feel an elven armor pressed against her back, its jagged parts scratching a little against her ice-like stalhrim protection.

Next to her, Brynjolf didn't dare move an inch. He was well aware that any kind of movement might provoke the Thalmor to hurt Aislinn. He was barely breathing, silently watching her and trying to convey his thoughts to her somehow. His mind was racing, frantically trying to find a solution. He examined every bit of the landscape around them. This was a dead end. A massive unclimbable dark grey rock on his left side, a cliff with an open view to the valley far below on the right side. The only escape route was blocked by the twelve newcomers in gilded ornate armors and deep blue hoods who just happened to be the enemies he feared the most at the moment. He watched in horror as Aislinn raised her hands.

"All right," she said with an unreadable expression. "You got me. I surrender. But could you do me a favor and spare my friend here? I don't believe you have anything against him."

"So he comes at night and finds a way to rescue you? No, we definitely cannot do that." The sweet elven voice sounded almost as if it was singing the words. "Kill him. We don't need the guy."

Sudden realization flashed through Aislinn's mind. _They want me alive!_

She immediately pressed her neck to the dagger in front of her. Brynjolf's eyes widened but the Altmer behind her dropped it, shock reflecting in his eyes. Aislinn turned around at once and Shouted.

 _"Fus Ro Dah!"_

The words echoed through the land, bouncing from mountain to mountain, spreading far and wide. Catching her breath after the usual impact of the Shout, she could hear a dragon cry from far away answering to her powerful voice. The elves flew into the air and landed on a disorderly pile. Without even thinking, she drew her two swords, rushed to the pile and sliced the throats of as many elves as possible before they could get back on their feet. Brynjolf was right next to her making a quick work of those who tried to sneakily rid her of her advantage.

Aislinn stopped before killing the last one. She pressed both of her blades to his neck and inhaled.

"Speak," she ordered him firmly. "What do you want with me? Why are you chasing me all across Skyrim? Why are you _killing_ anyone you suspect of worshipping Talos? And where did you take my daughter?"

"Yeah, right," the elf grimaced sarcastically. "I tell you and then what? You're going to get rid of me anyway so let's get this over with."

"Speak. Now." Anger showed in her eyes but her voice remained calm.

"You might think you're good at this, _Dragonborn_ , but no-one threatens the Thalmor. You're only making this worse for yourself. You'll realize eventually. Either way, I'm not telling you a damn thing. Go ahead and kill me." She noticed no small portion of disdain in his voice when he addressed her by her title.

There wasn't a single trace of fear or regret in the Altmer's eyes.

Aislinn took the sword in her left hand and buried its tip in the elf's stomach. Gods, how she hated to do this. But her life was on the line here. Lucia's life was on the line. She _had to_ do it. She squinted and took a deep breath, her fists clenching around the hilts of her swords.

The elf gasped but no real sound came from his throat. He stared at Aislinn, still grimacing. She pressed on the blade and turned it inside his body. He gritted his teeth but refused to give in.

"I don't think this is going to work, lass," Brynjolf said and shook his head. "They're tough and who knows what kind of oath they make in order to keep their secrets."

"Finally someone with brains," the elf hissed. "Listen to your friend, _Dragonborn_ , there's wisdom in his words."

"I don't need acknowledgement from the likes of you," Brynjolf spat and kicked the elf in the hip. He moaned for the first time but his expression didn't change.

"You won't get too far, _Dragonborn_." A malicious smile formed on the Altmer's lips. "There's more of us. And thanks to your little display of power, they know exactly where you are."

"I hate to admit it but he's right, lass. We have to go." Brynjolf couldn't hide the slight anxiety in his voice.

Aislinn furiously cut the elf's throat. Even in death he seemed to look down on her.

They searched the bodies for anything that could give them a clue about what was going on but found nothing but some elven weapons and a few Septims.

"How long do you think it would take them to realize we're not elves if we wore their armor?" Aislinn asked Brynjolf, a desperate plan taking shape in her head.

"About the time it would take for your hand to reach the tip of your nose," he said without hesitation. "Until they studied our movements."

She sighed.

"We could still try," she suggested. "I don't mean to jump on them but if it can increase our chances of survival by just a tiny bit, it's still worth it."

"Fair enough," he nodded. In his mind, he scowled over the image of the lass jumping head first into a group of Thalmor. No, she didn't intend to do it. But he was sure as the sun that the appalling possibility was there.

They took a set of elven armor and a Thalmor cape each and quickly changed into them. Aislinn studied her new outfit with a criticizing look.

"Have I really just dressed like a filthy Thalmor?" she exhaled, shaking her head wildly in pure denial.

"You look quite good in that," he objected with a smile.

"No, I don't," she smirked. "Don't you dare say something like that again."

He laughed. And froze the very next moment. Aislinn noticed it too. Two more Altmer were coming to their site. There were no bushes to hide behind, nothing that could make an obstacle for the elves. Aislinn threw herself on the ground, embracing the pale corpse of the elf she'd just stripped of his armor, pretending to be dead. Brynjolf followed her example. Holding their breath, they waited.

They could hear footsteps approaching at a steady pace until they stopped just a few feet away from them.

"Damn fools," said a female voice, surprisingly deep for an Altmer. "I told Simer not to fight her. She may be a mere Imperial but a Dragonborn is still a Dragonborn. She's not to be taken lightly."

"They were twelve of them. How could she…" a male voice whispered.

"Paralyze her, shut her mouth, maybe even seal her eyes. Her limbs are not the only weapons she has. Why do you think we made _that thing_? They can't expect to win a fight with her if they don't have it with them."

Aislinn's mind raced. What in Oblivion was _that thing_? Some kind of weapon against her? What made it so special?

She felt uneasy. Right now she just wanted to jump on her feet, kill the damned elves and be on her way as fast as she could. She hated waiting and not being able to move. She felt a sudden burst of energy in her body and desperately wished to let it out. But what if they had _that thing_ with them?

As if some higher power responded to her wishes, both elves suddenly turned around and left. She sat up and buried her face in her palms.

"Are you all right?" Brynjolf asked with a worried expression.

"I'm fine," she exhaled. "I think it's just a little too much to take at the moment but I'll be okay."

He nodded.

"That was the first time I've actually seen you Shout," he pointed out. "Or display any kind of Dragonborn power. I keep hearing about you all the time but it's still kind of hard to believe when I see it with my own eyes."

"Yeah," she said. "Even for me it's sometimes hard to believe I'm really _the_ Dragonborn. I feel so small, you know."

Without her noticing, Brynjolf reached out his hand to her but then pulled it back again. She seemed lonely and, yes, very small at that moment. Looking at her young face, he realized that deep inside she was just a child striving to make friends and find her place in this cruel world. This strong, seemingly unbreakable woman had an unexpectedly fragile side to her. Why hadn't he noticed before?

 _Because if I did, I would have never made her a thief,_ he answered his own question. _I guess I chose not to notice it._

He felt like protecting her despite knowing that she surpassed him by far in terms of strength. A small clump of emotions settled in his heart and it was surprisingly painful. She doesn't really need him. She never did and she never will. She's the Dragonborn, completely capable of protecting herself, acknowledged in all of Tamriel, while he's just a thief. An extraordinary thief with some tricks up in his sleeve but still just a thief.

Suddenly the image of her pressing her neck against a gilded elven dagger flashed through his mind.

"Don't you ever do that ever again," he grunted. "Ever."

She gave him a questioning look.

He pointed at his throat. "What were you thinking with that dagger? What if it really cut through?"

"Then, I suppose, we wouldn't be having this conversation now." He couldn't read her expression.

"You're unbelievable." He shook his head.

"Sorry," she muttered, blushing a little, even though he couldn't see it in the dark. _He said it again._

"We should be on our way. There's no telling when they're going to show up again. And you know… I don't think it should matter if we chop off some Forsworn heads anymore."

She nodded. "Let's move forward and show those bastards what we're capable of."

He smiled at her enthusiasm.

They climbed down the graveled slope leading to the cliff they'd left behind and proceeded to the Forsworn encampment. Aislinn decided not to hide since she would get attacked the moment the first one of them would fall to the ground anyway. She and Brynjolf walked calmly to the nearest fire. Immediately, the present Forsworn pointed their weapons at them.

"You chose a bad time to get lost," one of them hissed.

"Stop!" a voice echoed suddenly. "They're not our enemies."

Aislinn blinked in surprise. She knew that voice. It belonged to Madanach, the leader of the Forsworn.

"Long time no see, Aislinn the Dragonborn," he greeted her. The last time she had seen him, he looked like an old ragged man in simple prisoner attire. Now he was majestic, his grey-haired head crowned by a strange looking but still beautiful crown made of moose skull with antlers, small emeralds planted in its crevices, shaped into simple ornaments. Sabre cat fur covered his shoulders and a neat studded fur armor with sabre cat teeth as decorations protected his body. "I do remember warning you about confronting the Forsworn before, but things have changed drastically since then. I believe we have common interests."

"We do?" she asked, surprise still in her face.

"The Thalmor," he said as if it explained everything.

"The Thalmor," she repeated, waiting.

"If I understand it correctly, the Thalmor are trying to chase you down. Just like pretty much everybody in Skyrim. We are not going to hand our land to them so easily. There is a history between us and the Skyrim Nords and we don't like the influence of the Empire any better, but unless we join forces, none of us can hold up against a force this strong. The Thalmor have a lot of backup and they're not afraid to use it. And," he gave her a meaningful look, "they are preparing a weapon. No-one knows what kind of weapon it is, we just know that they're up to something. So, as much as I hate to admit it, our own fight will have to wait."

"Hey," Brynjolf's voice whispered in her ears. "These guys can actually put two and two together. Didn't you say they're worse than the Stormcloaks?"

There was a twitch in the corners of her mouth. "Well, their leader can. I wouldn't be so sure about the rest of them."

"So…" she chewed slowly, turning back to Madanach. "What is your plan?"

"The plan is to unite Skyrim, of course."

She couldn't stop the burst of laughter coming from her throat. "Unite Skyrim? Now that's a good one!" Brynjolf frowned with disapproval.

She could see the tribesmen raising their weapons again. She didn't really care.

"I am not joking," he said, his voice cold as ice. "This is the only way we can defend ourselves. They won't leave any of us alone if we let them do as they please."

"I get your point but how in Oblivion do you plan on achieving that?"

He gave her a wide, bright smile. "That's where _you_ come in."

"Me?" she winced. "What do I do?"

"You go and unite Skyrim, of course."

"W… what?! How in Tamriel would I ever do that?"

"Oh, come on now. _You're_ the Dragonborn. People will listen to anything you say."

"But they won't. I'm just…"

"That's enough," Brynjolf stepped in. "I admire your determination, Your Highness, but you can't just bump the weight of all Skyrim onto the lass's shoulders like this. This is too much."

"But she already _is_ responsible for all Skyrim," he objected. "She became responsible the moment she was born."

Brynjolf gritted his teeth. He was furious. These people had no idea… no idea what kind of person she was, no idea what she had to go through. They had no right to put her in such a position. Especially when they were just a rebelling group of outlaws. Good-for-nothing scum, never able to do anything themselves.

"You go and unite it yourself," he hissed. "I'll gladly bow my head before you when you have. But don't you dare drag her into this. She has enough worries for the rest of her life, even without having to lead a nation."

"Say what you will," he said calmly. "She _will_ unite Skyrim. And we'll be waiting." He stepped aside, making a way so the two of them could leave the camp. The confidence in his voice was driving Brynjolf mad.

"The Forsworn will heed your call, Dragonborn," Madanach addressed Aislinn as Brynjolf took her hand and dragged her out of the camp. He hurried to leave it far behind.

She kept silent, lost in thought.

"You're not considering what they said, are you?" he asked anxiously.

"I'd never seen you this angry before," she evaded answering the question.

"I doubt I ever was."

They traveled the rest of the night without speaking another word or taking a rest in silent agreement that it would be best for them to use the darkness of the night as their cover. When another beautiful day was about to start, they set up a camp near the Reachcliff Cave, the tall ornate stones surrounding it as their silent guardians. The proud silhouette of the dwarven city of Markarth was vaguely visible from here. Aislinn raised her head to take a look at it, wondering what they're going to do once they reach the city. _If_ they reach the city. They first had to find a way inside and, given its structure, that was by no means an easy task. She prayed that Endon was still safe and sound since he was the only lead they had.

The two of them had a quick meal. Brynjolf was to keep the first watch again so Aislinn lay on the ground, her mind elsewhere. She didn't even bother making a bed for herself. She was staring at Brynjolf's back with a distant look when she suddenly heard the voice again.

 _Unite Skyrim, Dovakhiin. How does that sound? Do you want to simply_ unite _it? Or do you seek something more? You have the power. Speak just one word and they will follow you to the end of the world. It's all on the palm of your hand, Dovakhiin. Grab it! Take it! Devour it!_

Her emotions flew around violently, causing a painful whirlwind inside of her mind. There was a hunger inside her, a hunger for more than just a simple acknowledgement. She was hungry for power and she wanted it now.

"NO!" she screamed, panting heavily as she jumped on her feet. With a swift movement, Brynjolf appeared right next to her.

"What happened?! Are you okay? Is something wrong?" He did not even try to hide his fear anymore but she barely noticed it. She was looking right through him.

"I… I don't know," she whispered distantly.

"What is it? Tell me, Aislinn. I need to know if I am to help you."

The sound of her name suddenly brought her back into reality. It was the first time she heard him say it. Was it that bad? Did she scare him that much?

"I don't know," she repeated. "I heard a voice. It spoke to me."

"What did it say?"

"I don't remember," she lied.

He sighed. "I'm worried sick about you."

She stared at him. So many sides of him she hadn't known before, all in one day. Well, technically speaking, if a day was the time between two sleep sessions.

"I'll be okay," she tried to comfort him.

And there it was again. This doubtful look of his. _I don't buy that._

"I'll try to get some sleep," she said wearily.

He nodded.

She lay down again, unable to stop thinking about what had just happened. There was something familiar about that voice. It wasn't the voice itself but there was some kind of emotion… a feeling which was not hers but she'd encountered it before. Or more like an attitude. Or a concept? A way of living… a path. A path that was definitely wrong.

Suddenly, a flashback from her memories came to her mind. Something that Paarthurnax, her much respected teacher of the Way of the Voice, had once mentioned to her.

 _Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were meant to dominate. The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?_

She curled up on the ground, hugging her knees as tightly as she could.

 _Yes, I do. I was always proud of my power, never regretted a thing. But If it takes over me, what am I supposed to do? How ironic… the Blades want_ me _to kill Paarthurnax the Good Dragon… while I am the one who can't be trusted._

She did remember the first time she'd encountered this feeling. It was up at the Throat of the World. This was the emotion that had almost struck her down when Alduin the World-Eater had set his gaze upon her.

* * *

 _Yay, the fourth chapter is finished! I noticed that the third one was kind of sloppy so I worked on my narrating a little. I'm still having a hard time finding the right words in English so I try to read some other English texts and get some inspiration from there. I hope it works. :D_

 _I've been wondering if my fic isn't a little confusing when I just randomly use the characters and places from Skyrim without much explanation to them. This text is, of course, meant for the people who played Skyrim, but if you have any trouble finding yourself there, just let me know and I'll try to figure out a way to make things less complicated for you._

 _As always, thanks for all your support and stay tuned!_

 _Special thanks to TwillinOfTheWillows for her two reviews. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	5. Undercover

**Chapter 5: Undercover**

"Filthy Altmer scum," hissed Cedran and vented his anger on a bucket of water nearby. Ever since the high elves had come into the city of Markarth, he'd been struggling to find any clients at all. The bastards were always sniffing around, looking for something… or somebody. He had to note the name of every customer who went and bought a horse from him or anyone who was simply interested in buying one. Every night the elves came into his house and demanded a list of the clients. There was no list. The last five days, only a single client had come. Apparently a talkative one. The whole city had taken notice of him being deprived of his privacy. No-one had come ever since. Not a single seller, not a single buyer. If this goes on, he's going to have to kill his horses for meat and find another job. A simple horse merchant wouldn't survive an occupation.

He sighed wearily and headed for his home when he noticed two hooded figures approaching the city.

"Oh great, more incoming," he moaned to himself. It wasn't the first time that he stared at the snowy mountain ridge which separated Skyrim from Hammerfell. He had thought of crossing it countless times the past few days but he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he just left the horses there. And so he stayed and watched the Thalmor slowly take over the city.

The Thalmor walked past him, barely noticing him. He spat on the ground right next to them but neither of them raised their head to make another of their sarcastic comments. Surprised a little, he shrugged and entered his house. It didn't take long until he heard a knock on his door. His regular visitors came at exactly the same time as every night. Again, he let them search his house and clenched his fists in the process.

"Oh, come back any time," he said bitingly when they were leaving.

"You better behave, peasant," one of them whispered in a threatening voice. "We got our eyes on you."

 _From filth to peasant,_ Cedran thought to himself ironically. _Now that's what I call an advancement._

He was about to turn around and go back home when he noticed a movement from the river. He was sure no-one else had noticed it. The guards were too preoccupied with the Thalmor and the elves themselves weren't used to this land. To an outsider this would look like a pair of night birds looking for worms there but he clearly recognized two figures bending over something. He had to admit they were pretty good at hiding since it took him a few moments to register them. But he had and now he was curious what they were doing there.

As he approached the river, he noticed that they were wearing Thalmor hoods. It was probably the same two Thalmor he'd met before. Still, there was something strange about these two. He couldn't help but peek at what they were doing.

Suddenly, one of them stepped into the river and made their way to the iron bars through which the river was flowing out of the city. It seemed like they tested their strength. He crouched and crept closer to have a better look. His body pressed to the city wall, he heard a female voice.

"No good. There's a weir right behind those bars. This city is impenetrable, really."

 _Wait a minute,_ Cedran paused with a sudden blink of realization. _This is no elven voice. And they're trying to get inside the walls. What in Oblivion…_

The woman suddenly appeared in front of him. He caught a glimpse of her face and his eyes widened. Before he could speak a word, she covered his mouth with her hand and dragged him to the other person.

"What are we going to do with him, lass?" So the other one was a man. Unlike the woman, he had never seen him before.

The woman drew an elven dagger and pressed it to his neck. "Do not even think about screaming," she warned him. "You'd do well to confess why you were sneaking up on us. And make it short."

She removed her hand from his mouth.

"Lady Aislinn," he took a deep breath. "You're alive!"

Surprised, Aislinn put down her dagger and grabbed his shoulders instead. A sigh of relief escaped his lungs as the cold metal drew further from his skin.

"What's going on here? You're…"

"Cedran, the horse merchant. You probably don't remember me. But it's hard to forget someone like you, my lady."

"And just now you were wondering…"

"We all thought you were dead. The word has it that you died in a horrible accident a few days ago. Everyone heard your Thu'um… so it wasn't you?"

"That was probably me," she said. "But I'm here and I'm alive. Who said I was dead?"

"Everyone's talking about it so it's pretty hard to identify the source," Cedran explained. "People here know that the Thalmor are after you. And there's so many of them! But boy, I'm so glad to see you again. You give an old man hope."

She shook her head. _You give an old man hope._ Just what kind of hope, really?

"We need to speak to Endon. Do you know where to find him? Could you maybe get him out of the city?" she asked quietly, her eyes roaming back and forth to ensure no-one is listening.

"Endon? The Redguard silversmith? That won't be easy," his brows furrowed.

"What is it?"

"He's hiding from everyone. His whole family disappeared the moment the Thalmor came into the city. They say he buried himself in the Dwemer ruins underneath the city but we don't know anything for certain. There has been a slide down there. If he went there, there's no way he could have survived it. The whole place is in ruins. They're even thinking of moving the jarl out of the Understone Keep for his safety."

Aislinn went weak in her knees. She turned to her companion, the despair in her face covered in the dark of the night.

"Tell me it's not happening." She knew he couldn't answer to that.

She turned back to Cedran. "Can you get us inside? We still need to look for him. Or for any clues on how to find him."

"No," said the man beside her sternly.

"Brynjolf…"

"No, no and no. Lass, you're doing everything in your power to get yourself killed. Just when are you going to stop acting like that? It's a miracle we survived the way here. And now you want to break into a city full of Thalmor in search for someone whose location is unknown even to the locals? Are you out of your mind?"

"So tell me, Brynjolf," she asked quietly. "What are we going to do now? Go back to Riften where it's the same? Or maybe Solitude. We could pay a visit to the Thalmor headquarters there. Hello, how're you doing? Wanna have a pint with us?"

He let out a resigned sigh.

"All right," he gave in. "Have it your way. But as long as I'm with you, I'm gonna drag you away and tie you up for good if I see you jumping straight into the dragon's nest."

"I know they say that you don't steal a dragon's egg twice, but I'm the Dragonborn, you know," she said with a silly smile.

"Not. Funny."

Cedran, who was watching them the whole time, chuckled.

"It's not going to be easy to enter the city," he said, his voice serious again. "You'll need disguises. And two passes."

"Passes?" Brynjolf asked, sudden sparks bickering in his eyes.

"The Thalmor require everyone who enters or leaves the city to have a pass," Cedran explained. "They can be acquired at their embassy or at any headquarters in the cities. Your name has to be written in there as well as the purpose of the visit."

Aislinn frowned.

"Do you have one as well?" Brynjolf's voice sounded completely calm now, except for a slight undertone of excitement no-one registered.

"Of course," Cedran nodded. "I couldn't do without it."

"Then it should be no problem to forge it. This is my area of expertise," the thief said cunningly. "We'll just have to come up with a good disguise and a pair of convincing names."

"Sure, no problem," Aislinn snorted. "I guess I'll just have to change into someone completely different."

"Hey," he glared at her. "You're the one who wanted to get inside."

She sighed.

"Sometimes you can be such a child," he rolled his eyes.

The three of them quietly sneaked into Cedran's house.

"Be on your guard," he warned them. "The Thalmor don't usually come at this hour but they do have their eyes on me. The possibility of them showing up here is still there."

They gave him an understanding nod. He passed a piece of paper to Brynjolf. The pass was written in a beautiful slender script. It was signed by a person of the name Nadir and its corners were covered in gold.

"Crap. Golden decorations," Brynjolf sighed. "I'll need a gold ingot, a whetstone and a bowl of warm resin."

"I can get you the whetstone and I'll probably be able to find some resin. But the ingot…"

"Screw the ingot," said Aislinn. "Let's just use some Septims. It seems I won't be using them for a while anyway."

"Yeah, that should do," Brynjolf nodded. "Lass, you try to come up with an idea for a disguise while I'm working on this, okay?"

"Got it."

She sat down on a chair near the fireplace and Cedran followed.

"I think I need a wig," she said. "My hair is short, there's no way I can do anything about it. Unless I shave it…" She gave him a pleading look.

"Maybe I could give you some horse mane," the merchant suggested. "I do own stables after all."

"Brilliant!" she smiled. "And I need a proper dress. Any idea where I could get that?"

"There are some dresses my late wife left behind," he replied readily. "I didn't dare touch her stuff after she'd died… but if it's for a good thing, I'm sure she'll understand."

"Is that really all right?"

"Yeah, it's fine. Anything to help the Dragonborn get further."

Aislinn shivered. She wasn't ready for this kind of answer. Was she truly expected to unite Skyrim? No, of course she wasn't. People thought she was dead. At least most of them did…

They worked on the disguises most of the night. Brynjolf joined them later, waving two fake passes in his hand.

"That's that," he said. "I still need to write the purpose of our stay, though. How are you progressing?"

"Almost done," Aislinn smiled at him. "I'll be a fine medicine seller. According to Cedran, Bothela, the owner of the Hag's Cure, is still there, so I can pretend I'm her acquaintance. Even if they ask her, there should be no problem. I have a way to ensure she knows who's coming."

"Cool," he nodded in approval. "But you know… the color of your eyes is quite unusual. I hate to say it but they could recognize you if they saw it."

"Hmmm… I'll just have to be blind then," she assumed. "They wouldn't bother taking a headband from someone who's blind, right?"

"Let's hope so," Brynjolf replied, a bit of uneasiness in his voice as he chewed on the thought of his companion being disabled in this manner. "And I guess I'll have to cut this hair of mine."

Aislinn gave him a disapproving look.

"What? Got a better idea?" he asked, his brows raised.

"No, it's just… it's such a shame." She looked at his soft rusty-colored hair with regret.

"Wo-ho, you think I'd turn ugly if I cut my hair, hm?" he teased her.

"That's not what I… oh, for the Nine's sake, whatever. Just cut it down and do it quickly."

Cedran covered his mouth as he smiled. "Would it be okay if you just hid your natural color?" he asked.

"If I shave my beard, I guess it could be enough," the thief replied. "Do you have some dye?"

"Not exactly dye, more like some dirt from the ocean," the merchant laughed. "It's an algae extract. Works pretty well and you can wash it away if you need to."

"Good, let's use that. I don't think they would recognize me anyway. We pretty much got rid of everyone who saw me with the lass on the way here. They shouldn't even be aware of the fact that I went with her."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Cedran opposed. "Words travel fast."

"That could only mean we have a traitor among us."

"It's not impossible," Aislinn interjected. "You never know and there's a bunch of new kids in the guild." Brynjolf raised a brow at the word "kid". "But how about we don't cut it entirely? Let's just make it a different shape and color."

"Fair enough. Just for you," Brynjolf winked at her. She averted her eyes as her face turned bright red.

"There's one last problem," Cedran noted, waving his head towards their backpacks. "Your belongings. You can't take them with you, the Thalmor are sure to look through them."

Aislinn frowned. She hadn't realized until now.

"We can't go there completely unarmed and unprotected," she objected. "If we happen to run into trouble, there's no way we're going to survive."

"Daggers in our shoes will have to do," Brynjolf sighed. He definitely must have gone crazy to go through with this. He could as well turn back and just go safely back to Riften. If he wasn't concerned for the well-being of a certain lass who was most definitely heading right into a dragon's lair.

"And I guess I'll have to hide this in my shoe as well," she held up the dragon claw she'd taken from Samuel. "I'm not leaving this out of my sight."

"What is this?" Cedran asked curiously.

"Something important, I believe, but we're not sure," Aislinn replied evasively. "Don't tell anyone about this, will you?"

"My mouth is sealed," he assured her. "Here," he handed her a pair of scissors and nodded toward Brynjolf.

She took them and walked behind the thief. She could feel him shiver as she took the first strand of his hair in her hand.

"I'm sorry," she said, her fingers carefully selecting a rust-colored lock. "I'll make it as quick as possible."

"It's okay," he murmured.

 _Don't,_ he thought to himself. _Take your time. Nocturnal knows that I wouldn't allow anyone else to touch me from behind. How is it that you're so special?_ He closed his eyes, enjoying the tickling sensation on his head. Who would have guessed that these hands of hers, so strong when they swung a sword or stretched a bow, could do something like this.

Everything was almost ready when they heard a knock on the door. All of them held their breath.

"Someone's coming. Hide, get down in the cellar, quickly," Cedran whispered urgently. "There are sacks full of vegetables. Get in there and don't you dare move or make a sound."

They quickly did as he said. A moment after, they could hear a female elven voice coming from upstairs.

"We saw the light in your windows all night long. What were you doing?"

"I was just going through my late wife's belongings," Cedran said, voice unshaken. "It's about time I put these away."

"Your wife had… very unusual interests," the voice said suspiciously.

"Oh, this is not hers. I just tend to collect things. You know, when you keep selling horses to travelers and adventurers, you pick up a lot of trinkets."

There was a silence. Aislinn, pale in her face, wondered what the elf could be talking about. Her swords? Something in her backpack? Her stomach tumbled when she imagined what could happen if the unexpected visitor decided to take her things away. All the keys she had. The Elder Scrolls. The Black Books of Hermaeus Mora. So much forbidden knowledge. She felt like throwing up.

At last, the elf seemed to have gone away. They left the cellar when they heard Cedran calling to them.

"I'm so sorry," Aislinn exhaled. "You did so much for us…"

"It doesn't matter," the merchant said in a soothing voice. "They don't like me anyway."

"But now they really suspect something."

He shrugged. "I was thinking of leaving this place. I hate to leave the horses behind but it seems like I've got no choice anymore."

"Take this with you," she put an ebony sword in his hand. "May it protect you well."

"No, I couldn't possibly…" he tried to protest. The determination in her eyes silenced him.

"Is there a place we can hide our things at?" she asked.

"Try the cellar," he said. "There is a bunch of corners one can miss very easily. I don't have anything else."

"All right. Let's do that and be on our way."

Aislinn and Brynjolf hid their things and double-checked if they had everything they needed. Aislinn put her books and scrolls in a bag of the same color as her backpack and put it at the very bottom. If she's lucky, nobody will notice that there's something else. She took some fruits and herbs and put them on top of the bag. She added a few keys and small trinkets barely anyone would find of interest if they didn't know what they were used for. Then she put the pearl claw and a dagger in her right shoe and several lockpicks in the other one. Finally, she put some dirt on her face and her limbs, covered her hair with long black horse mane carefully glued to a piece of cloth and put a green headband over her eyes, tying it at the back of her head. Brynjolf, dressed in a simple grey linen shirt and dark leather trousers handed her a pass.

They thanked Cedran and left the house. Brynjolf looked around to make sure nobody was watching them. Then he took Aislinn's hand and carefully directed her toward the main gate. She could feel the rays of the morning sun on her back, hear the currents of the river nearby roaring. A bird of prey made its perilous presence known at a distance. Hesitantly, she walked forward and waited for a signal to stop.

"Halt!" sweet elven voice called. She heard footsteps quickly approaching them.

"By the order of Elenwen, the head of the Thalmor in Skyrim, a pass is now required to enter the city of Markarth. Either present it here or begone."

She could feel Brynjolf taking the pass from her hand as he deposited it together with his own.

"'Terendur and Cyrien from Solitude,'" the elf read. "'Visiting the city of Markarth to trade goods for a few flasks of Stallion's Potion at Hag's Cure.' What's that?"

"It's lady Bothela's specialty," Aislinn explained in an unusually rough voice. "We come here for it regularly."

"I see." There was a bit of suspicion in the elf's voice. But then again, that was probably a part of his job. "Terendur," he chewed slowly on the name. "Quite an unusual name for a Nord."

"My parents travel a lot," Brynjolf said. His voice wasn't too calm but it wasn't too shaky either. A perfect act by a skilled thief master. "They named me after some friend of theirs. Or so I heard."

Aislinn could feel the elf studying them. She froze when she felt a current of the air brush her elbow as he walked behind her and opened her backpack without a warning. He grabbed what she assumed to be an apple from there casually, paused for a while and put it back. He then checked Brynjolf's backpack as well.

"All right," he said at last. "You may proceed. Be aware that the city rules are strict and we reserve the right to punish you severely for any kind of misdemeanor you might conduct. It is in your interest to abide by our rules. The curfew is from dusk to sunrise and it is strictly prohibited to roam the streets at that time. You are not allowed to drink, fight or display any kind of disorderly behavior in public places. Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," both of them replied.

"Off you go, then."

The gate opened and the two of them finally entered the city.

* * *

 _And so another chapter is finished. The story just keeps getting longer and longer. I have it all in my head but every time I try to get further with it, it just takes a longer route and I end up writing something completely different. It's like the story is evolving on its own, using me as a medium. Curious! :D Well, at least it's not a boring oneshot and you got something to look forward to. Or so I hope._

 _I promise next time there will be a progress in the story. :D_

 _As usual, thanks for all your support. Likes, follows and reviews are much appreciated. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	6. Through the City of Stone

**Chapter 6: Through the City of Stone**

Brynjolf held Aislinn's hand carefully, nudging her gently every time she was supposed to take a turn. He could feel her uneasiness as she walked the streets in the city blindfolded, her body desperately searching for a support in the complete darkness she was to. He hated it as much as she did but they had no choice. Even as a skilled thief, he was amazed that they had made it this far without any real incidents. They had walked right through the main gate. Who would have ever guessed.

There were not many people out in the streets. Even the stands right in front of the inn were deserted, the river being the only element that didn't seem to mind roaring mightily. The city seemed dreadful. A horrible set of cold stone buildings seemingly unaffected by the passing time. No children running on the narrow streets, no smiles on the faces of the few people who hesitantly walked around. They gave him and Aislinn frightened or disgusted looks as they passed them. Several of them seemed to silently comment on Aislinn's headband and some tried to evade the confrontation completely.

Brynjolf turned right and continued along the canal to his left. Across a bridge he saw a group of mixed-raced people standing below the giant rock that created the natural fortification of the city, listening to an Altmer official. The words that came out of his mouth suddenly stunned him and Aislinn in place.

"Dear citizens of Markarth, heed my words!" his voice echoed throughout the city as if it was amplified. "Our beloved hero, Aislinn the Dragonborn, died a horrible death in the wilds of the Reach. Yes, we all mourn for her, but we must not give in! She will be remembered! But! Many try to tarnish her name or act in her name for their selfish reasons! These unjustified actions must be punished! There is an impostor among us! Do not be deceived! To you, she might look just like our hero, but she is deceitful! Do not listen to her words and do not believe anything she says. Be aware that she was in contact with the Dragonborn and got a lot of information from her. This individual is dangerous! Be on your guard and inform us immediately if you encounter her, for she must be put to justice!"

A few cheers sounded from the crowd. A man stood on his toes and gave out a cry: "For Skyrim!"

"We will not be deceived," a woman shouted.

"Brynjolf," Aislinn whispered in horror.

"Not now, lass," he shook his head. "Not now."

He led her through the crowd, carefully pulling and nudging to avoid any possible collision, and up the stairs to his right. Following Aislinn's instructions, he turned right and proceeded along the shelf, his cautious gaze looking out for any sign of suspicious movement or any unusual occurrences. On his left stood Endon's house, Dwemer golden door leading to a dwelling carved into a rock which basically hosted all the houses in the city. This was the building they were trying to reach. And there was a Thalmor guard in front of it.

Brynjolf drew a deep breath, squeezed Aislinn's hand tightly and took a few steps towards the guard.

"Excuse me," he called. A male elf of a smaller posture turned his head to him.

"What is it, citizen?" he asked with a look that suggested being bothered.

"I found something rather interesting down there, right next to that bridge," the thief pointed at an intersection where the crowd was standing. He handed the elf an amulet. It was a necromancer's amulet that he had picked up during a mission of his. "I think I saw its owner walk that way," he waved to the south-west corner of the city. The ban on necromancy was of no importance to the Dominion but if his assumption was correct, the Thalmor wouldn't want a necromancer in the city.

"I see. Thank you, citizen, I will look into it," the elf replied coldly. Brynjolf pretended to walk away but peeked behind several times. Soon, the elf left his place and headed the way Brynjolf directed him.

"All right," he whispered. "We only have a moment to get in so stay close to me until I unlock the door," he told Aislinn, although he doubted she even needed to be told. He took a lockpick out of his shoe and started working on the door. Aislinn could hear a click as it unlocked. They sneaked into the building and closed the door behind them. Skillfully, Brynjolf locked it again, his fingers swift and quiet.

Aislinn took the headband off her eyes and blinked several times. It was dark, the only source of the light being the hearth in front of her, the flame that would never go out, but for the eyes which had adjusted to utter darkness, even such a dim light could be painful.

"Finally," she exhaled in relief. "But what was _that_ about? Are they… do they seriously think that the people will be deceived that easily?"

"You heard them," Brynjolf said with a grim look in his face. "And they _will_ be deceived. In the end, people are just a herd of sheep that desire to be led. The Thalmor may be scary but they sure are better leaders than most of the Nords. They're decisive and strict. People tend to be drawn to this kind of power, no matter how much they despise it."

"You put it as if Skyrim was already lost," she frowned.

"It will be if people don't start fighting for themselves," he said mercilessly.

With a sigh, she looked around the room. So there was a fireplace ahead, facing the wall on the left. A small space on her left was separated from the spot where the two of them were standing by a stone counter. She walked around it and walked a few steps to find herself on a stone platform. There were several showcases with jewelry there, all intact. An unlocked chest lay on the bottom shelf of a cupboard with nothing but a few pelts inside. She turned around and walked past the fireplace. There was a door and a bedroom behind it. She searched the drawer, the bedside table and the bookshelf which, surprisingly, was full of everything but books, while Brynjolf looked behind the furniture and under the beds. She noticed a trophy on the wall. She removed it carefully, studying the wall behind and the trophy itself.

They found nothing. There wasn't a single clue, not in the beds, under the carpets and pelts or even in the dishes that lay around. Everything seemed perfect, untouched. If the Thalmor had been here, they hadn't left a trace. It didn't even seem like anyone had ever been living here. Strange.

The two of them went through everything again. And then again. And again. Still nothing, as though the place refused them. Aislinn wanted to believe that the answer was close but she couldn't grasp it.

"I don't think we'll be able to find anything here, lass," Brynjolf said, a trace of resignation in his voice.

She let out a sigh of disappointment as she leaned to the wall between the beds, her left hand pressing against it. Suddenly, she felt a cold blow. Surprised, she tugged away and looked at the wall. There was a narrow crevice on it, right where she had touched it before.

"Brynjolf," she whispered.

He watched her as she put her fingers inside and pulled out a small gilded lever, definitely of dwarven origin. A piece of wall slid down and a small window appeared on the other side of the room, revealing an astonishing view of steam mechanisms with great reservoirs, tubes and pipes crossing at many places and pistons which had probably worked relentlessly for centuries. They could see a large room, partly flooded by muddy water. A wide tube was coming out of one of the mechanisms on the opposite side of the room leading to the window the two of them were looking through. There was a lid at the end of it but Aislinn found nothing when she removed it. There were large doors on either side of the room.

"Wow," Aislinn said in awe. "I had no idea."

"We'll not be able to get there from here, though," Brynjolf pointed out.

"There will probably be an entrance through Nchuand-Zel," she said.

"That's right under the jarl's place. How in Oblivion are we supposed to get through there? And also, didn't that horse merchant lad mention a slide?"

"He did," she said. "But it's the only lead we got. We could go through the Hall of the Dead. We should be able to avoid meeting the jarl and most of the Thalmor in the city, I think."

"How I hate these places," he sighed. "I'm a thief. Stealing from the living. Working for the living."

"You chose a bad person to travel with," she chuckled.

"I don't hate traveling with you, though."

"I guess you don't value your life that much, then."

"A thief's life doesn't count for much. But I value yours."

"I'm a thief as well," she objected.

He laughed.

They headed back to the front door. Brynjolf unlocked it again as silently as he could. He could see a silhouette of a guard when he peeked outside. Judging from his height, it wasn't the same guard as before.

"This will require some patience," he said. "Stay ready. Put your headband on and wait. I'll try to distract him but I have to make sure no-one else sees it and that he can't tell where the distraction came from. When I pull your hand, we run. Whatever happens, stay close to me."

She nodded, nervousness framing her face. Reluctantly, she covered her eyes again and waited.

It felt like eternity had passed until she finally heard a clack from outside and felt Brynjolf take her hand. Crouching, they moved outside and back to the place where they had met the crowd in the morning. Then they stood up and pretended to be just normal citizens walking down the streets of the city. The guard before Endon's house looked alert, studying his surroundings. Before he could notice them, they mixed in a group of local merchants hurrying to the marketplace.

"That wasn't too bad," Brynjolf complimented himself. "You okay?"

"Just fine," she said. "If you leave out the fact that I'm dirty, I feel powerless and unprotected and I can't see a damn thing. 'Eyes open, walk with the shadows.' I'm going against the very foundation of the Guild."

"I'm your eyes," he comforted her. "Just rely on me for a while."

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a lute nearby. A bard. Aislinn didn't know the tune. It was a sad, pleading one, not similar to any of the songs she used to listen to at the college or anywhere in the cities. And then, her heart seemed to stop the moment the bard's voice reached her ears. This song was calling to her.

 _Where are the heroes  
The birds in the skies  
Oh, can't you hear us  
Our pleads and our cries_

 _I see the sun turning  
The color of blood  
Oh, the brave soldiers  
Lie face down in mud_

 _The heroes have left us  
Oh what have we done  
And where did the gods go  
There's nowhere to run_

 _Where can we turn to  
In the darkness of times  
Our hopes are abandoned  
With the sound of doom chimes_

 _But if there's a hero  
Then we open the gate  
For we'll keep on waiting  
He's bound to our fate_

 _There will be heroes  
The birds in the skies  
Light shines upon us  
From where our hope lies_

She could feel her body shaking. This is not right. This is NOT right! This bard thinks she's dead while she's standing right next to him. He's calling to a non-existent hero because the last one left him. She left him. Do all the people in Skyrim think the same? Are they all calling to her in this dark hour? _Save us. Save us!_

Brynjolf caught her as she staggered.

"Let's go," he urged her. They hurried south across a bridge, turned right and headed up the stairs leading to the Understone Keep. They turned left halfway and headed south again when a young woman blocked their way.

"My master, Bothela, is a capable alchemist," she said. Aislinn recognized the voice of Muiri, Bothela's assistant. "We don't get many travelers these days so if you'd like to stop by and buy something, we would much appreciate it. Maybe she could treat those eyes of yours," she pointed towards Aislinn.

"Thank you," Aislinn whispered. "We might consider visiting your shop later."

Muiri froze. "This voice. You're…"

"Shhh, not so loud," Brynjolf hissed, knowing all too well that there was no way back. "You're from the shop called Hag's Cure, I presume? Listen, we're not…"

Completely ignoring him, Muiri stared at Aislinn angrily, grabbed the headband covering her eyes and took three steps backwards.

"There she is," she screamed. "The impostor."

"No, Muiri… shit!" Aislinn swore. "And now what?"

"Now we run!" Brynjolf exclaimed, dragging Aislinn toward the entrance to the Hall of the Dead.

They ran as fast as they could. Two Thalmor guards blocked their way at the end of the bridge they were just crossing. Aislinn pulled her dagger out of her shoe and hit one of them with its hilt. When the elf lost his balance, she shoved him over the edge of the bridge. He screamed as he fell down, drawing even more attention to them. Next to her, Brynjolf danced elegantly around the other guard, making a set of quick stabs all over his body. For a second before having to run again, Aislinn admired his skill with the dagger.

She ducked when an elven arrow flew past her head. Another bridge ahead. More guards were heading their way and not just the Thalmor but also the regular city guards, several of them now blocking the passage to the Hall of the Dead.

"I don't want to hurt you!" Aislinn called to them. "Please…"

They approached them slowly, their seemingly frail and unreliable steel weapons ready in their hands. The whole city was in uproar.

 _"Fus Ro Dah!"_ she Shouted, sending the guards in front of her to the ground.

She heard screams nearby but didn't pay attention to them. Determined to use every means possible to reach the entrance door, she ran, she kicked the guards out of the bridges and shelves, stabbed, danced around her enemies. She got ahead of Brynjolf for a moment but he quickly caught up to her.

Suddenly an arrow appeared right in front of her. She gasped in shock and for a moment saw her death. So this is how it ends. The Thalmor get to her and in the end, they rule over Skyrim. She may have slain the great dark beast which called himself the World-Eater, the great and mighty Alduin, the Devourer of Worlds, but she failed as a hero and a savior for no-one would be safe when the land had lost its freedom and succumbed to the cruel justiciars in gilded armors, marching upon it in the false claim to protect it, and roaring Talos in the skies would weep.

But the arrow never hit her. Instead, a man threw himself right in front of her, the next moment his body fell on the ground. He was holding a lute in his hands, trembling, breathing heavily. The arrow pierced his body, its tip sticking out from his back. It had to be the bard from before.

"Why…" Aislinn stared in shock, words stuck deep in her throat, choking upon them as they refused to make their way out.

"You're no imposter," he gasped. "You Shouted. I heard… your voice before… I could… never confuse it… with any other voice. Go… don't let them take you. GO!"

Unwillingly, Aislinn forced herself to run again, the image of the dying bard still vivid before her eyes. His pleading gaze, the mixture of hope and despair, the deepest wells of emotions in the dilated pupils of his eyes. People were dying because of her. People were dying _for_ her! People she'd never even met before. This bard would definitely go to Sovngarde. She would see to it.

Three more Thalmor guards stood before the entrance to the Hall of the dead. Aislinn Shouted again.

 _"Zun Haal Viik!"_

One of the Thalmor backed away as his sword flew out of his hand. Aislinn quickly caught it in the air. Elven sword in her right hand, her dagger in her left, she sliced her way through the guards to the entrance ruthlessly, only to find it locked.

"Brynjolf!" she gave him a pleading look.

"Buy me a minute of time!" he shouted as he rushed towards her, drawing a lockpick from his shoe in a graceful manner.

"I'm giving you five seconds!" She raised her sword to block an arrow.

Another eternity had passed for her when she finally heard a familiar click and the door opened. They quickly rushed through it, smashing it behind them.

"Don't bother locking it, there will be more of them further ahead," Aislinn warned him, catching her breath.

They hurried through the dark corridor, coffins on both sides. For a moment, quiet stillness took them and the dead welcomed them in their realm, Arkay silently watching over them. No-one dared follow them here. But then there was another golden door and beneath it beckoned the jarl's palace. A group of elves was awaiting them when they entered the Understone Keep. There was some kind of white sticky mist surrounding them. Brynjolf's eyebrows furrowed in anticipation of trouble.

Barely able to see anything, they fought back to back in desperate effort to drive their enemies away. Aislinn turned around just in time to see an arrow approach Brynjolf's throat.

 _NO!_ she shrieked in her mind frantically. _He'll die! He can't die!_

 _"Tiid Klo Ul!"_ another Shout echoed through the corridor, its source now panting heavily with fear and urgency. The arrow stopped in the air, not even an inch from Brynjolf's body. Aislinn cast it away, furiously slaying down her motionless enemies in a swift manner. When the time started moving again, she had slain most of them. Brynjolf's eyes widened as the image in front of his eyes changed entirely. Aislinn grabbed his hand and led him through the door to the Nchuand-Zel Excavation Site.

The moment the door closed behind them, the ground under their feet and the whole place started to crumble.

 _A slide? At a time like this? Things couldn't get any worse,_ Aislinn thought furiously. She and Brynjolf looked around. A vast corridor spread before them, light grey rocks, the same ones the whole corridor was made of, lay around disorderly. A group of large boulders seemed about to come loose right above them, spraying them with a nipping shower of dust and tiny pieces of gravel. Brynjolf darted out to the middle of the corridor. Aislinn took a deep breath and flexed her muscles but suddenly, she found herself unable to move.

"Get out of there, lass!" Brynjolf shouted.

Paralysis spread through her body. She gasped and tried again. Her body was heavy as if weights were tied around her limbs and her chest was about to plummet into the abyss, her mind clouded, fuzzy thoughts and images slowly fading away, leaving but an impenetrable haze. Time seemed to have slowed to make her savor this moment thoroughly.

"Lass!" the thief's voice sounded distant.

 _"Wuld…"_ she tried to Shout to get herself to safety. As if her lungs had shrunk, she could barely breathe. Was it Mehrunes Dagon testing her with some kind of cruel joke? Depriving her of power she ought to have and even the one she took for granted?

 _I have to escape!_

 _"Wuld… Nah…"_ she fell to her knees, her body shaking with desperate effort, stiffened, helpless.

 _I'm going to die!_ sudden horror flooded her thoughts and it took over the hazy cloudiness which had dominated before. _It's over! I'm going to die here! I can't move! I can't move!_

Her mind went blank. She closed her eyes in harsh acceptance of her fate. Her body failed the last attempt to stand and she could feel her head hit the ground. She vaguely recalled the feeling of a sticky white mist pressing against her body, freezing and burning at once. Then everything faded into darkness.


	7. The Dragons and the Humans

**Chapter 7: The Dragons and the Humans**

The dream was still vivid in her memory. She herself still wasn't quite sure if any part of the dream was reality. She had had many dreams like that for the past few nights, living more as a part of them than in the reality itself. She lay down on a soft mattress that her imprisoners prepared for her, stretching her arms to its edges. This was by no means a bad life, but it almost equaled to no life at all.

She closed her eyes and tried to relive the dream again, slowly getting addicted to the sweet sensation of the wind in her face and the birds either desperately running away from her or trying to catch up with her without any success.

 _She was standing on top of a cliff. Below her, a river came down in a roaring waterfall, the diamond drops of water sparkling in the sun. A willow grove spread out from around the pond below it, the slender branches slightly waving from one side to another in the summer breeze. The river then meandered through a plain scored only by smaller bushes of juniper. A few miles to the left, the ground rose steadily into a mountain ridge whose highest peaks were covered in the white caps of snow. At this time, they turned the crimson color of the setting sun._

 _She spread her wings and took off the cliff, soaring to the sky above. Excitement took over her as she felt the wind swirling around her. She felt the cold fresh air against her warm body and a thrilling shiver came down her spine. At a time like this, she didn't have to think about pointless things. All the worries she had, all the worries of the world, she'd left behind on the ground. On that ground that was meant to be walked on by the small and weak creatures who didn't have wings. She used to know their weaknesses. She had been one of them once, striving for mere survival. But not anymore._

 _She flew into a stream of warm air and watched a pair of sparrows deep down below her. She could fly higher than any bird could ever hope for, guard the land and all that was below, own it, rule it. Not even the mighty condors could compare to her. She roared as she took a dive in the waterfall and felt the icy cold water refresh her warmed-up body. She went down in an elegant spiral before soaring up again. Oh, the joy of the absolute freedom. The beauty of gliding the wind streams aimlessly, watching over the vast land below. The power one could feel just by looking around at that wondrous land, so far below and yet still at the grasp of her claws. She savored it all, basking in the delight of her might. She could stay like this for eternity._

 _Suddenly, a voice called to her. It was a deep soothing voice of a man who had lived through many hardships in just a short time, left with scars on his soul. He must have been a very powerful man during his life, but that life had ended too soon, unfulfilled._

 _"Wake up, my child," he said softly. "Come back from your sweet dreamland. You have gotten too accustomed to the visions I sent you, but this is not you. You are someone else, and, as much as you may find it unlikely, you are needed back where you come from. Wake up, my child."_

Lucia opened her eyes. Sun was shining dimly through the tall, narrow windows of the vast round room that had become her prison, casting a rich palette of colors upon her face and the walls made of pale wood whose origin she did not know. No-one had spoken to her in ages. The only contact she had received the last few days was the sliding sound of a small window that led to the corridor outside. Her guards put some food on the parapet below it every morning and evening. She always returned the dishes there after finishing her meals but that was about the only exercise she was getting lately. And the only real thing that happened during the day.

She had been having visions. A lot of them. Visions of flying like a dragon, roaring like a dragon, setting things on fire and racing with other winged creatures. The world was at her disposal in her dreams, allowing to be commanded by her, its very roots bending at her voice. She hated having to wake up. No-one had ever hurt her here but maybe getting hurt would at least be something. There was absolutely nothing in her life. Not even her life as a beggar had been this bad.

She knew living in the dreams wouldn't get her anywhere but she didn't have anything else to hold onto. She kept reliving them more and more, straying away from reality which, strangely enough, seemed more and more foreign and sinister to her with every passing day. And now she even heard voices.

 _"Are you awake?" the soft voice echoed in her mind. "Can you see the tangible world around you? Can you feel it? Can you touch it?"_

She laughed to herself, shivering at the sound of her own voice which she hadn't heard for a while.

 _And now I'm going crazy,_ she commented in her thoughts. _Maybe I'll lose my mind soon enough._

 _"You are not crazy,"_ the voice said. _"I decided to contact you because you are needed and you have the potential to become very strong."_

"Who are you?" she asked aloud. "Is my own mind playing with me or are you some kind of phantasm plaguing me?"

 _"A ghost would be the closest description, although it is not quite accurate,"_ he said, his deep voice resonating in Lucia's head. _"I was destined to become the Emperor of Tamriel once, but life sometimes has a way of shifting people far from their original purposes."_

"The Emperor of Tamriel? Speaking to _me_? No, I definitely must have gone crazy," she shook her head in denial. Dreams were one thing, but hearing strange voices was never a good sign. There were stories about people hearing strange voices and these people had never met a good end. If she would be lucky, the perfidious Daedra would only claim her soul after she had died in their service, which would, naturally, involve a lot of most unpleasant experiences.

 _"Why is it that every time a child is chosen, they suddenly turn into an adult and deny everything they consider beyond the reach of reality?"_ he asked, his voice now sounding like a rustle of the wind.

"I don't understand," she said simply.

 _"Of course you don't, my child, of course you don't. But I have come here for a purpose. The savior of Skyrim has chosen you. She is not aware of it yet, but you are the one who will help her achieve her goal. And for that, you will need power."_

"The savior of Skyrim?" Lucia asked curiously. Then her eyes widened. "Mama!" She so much wished to see her, the golden-eyed lady who had taken her out of the streets and provided her with everything she could have ever dreamt of. Now she was in danger. Lucia had known the moment the frightful pale-skinned elves with pointy ears had come and seized the family, sparing no-one as they had ordered her and the rest to lead them to her. Luckily enough, her mama never stayed for long and she wasn't particularly loquacious about what she would be doing.

 _"Yes, that would be her."_

"Can I see her? Is she hurt?" she asked, sudden eagerness in her voice.

 _"No, you cannot see her yet. And no, she is not hurt. Yet. As long as they keep you here, she will not be hurt."_

"Then I have to stay here?" Lucia sounded puzzled, a slight disappointment reflecting in her face.

 _"For the time being, yes. But you have to start training soon. Training so you can aid your… mother in her quest."_

"What should I do?"

 _"You have to understand the very essence of the dovah. The dragons. And the essence of your kind as well."_

"Your kind? Aren't you a human too?"

 _"Yes and no. A soul changes when its host body does, and the body reflects all that shapes a soul. Back when I was alive, dragon blood ran in my veins, just as it runs in the veins of your mother. We Dragonborn are always balancing on the edge of two worlds that have very little in common. Only in death can we truly comprehend our existence as a whole. And so your mother needs help if she is to fulfill her destiny."_

More confusion reflected in Lucia's face.

"But what am I supposed to do?"

 _"You will need to stay by her side and remind her of who she is and who she isn't. A Dragonborn is a mighty being. She has all the advantages of a dragon with the sole exception of being able to soar. But she also shares their weaknesses. There is a way to overcome them, but for that, she needs to stop thinking like a dovah and start thinking like a mun."_

"Ah," she fouled impatiently. "This doesn't make any sense. Why am I even listening to you? You're just something my mind created on its own."

 _"Your fantasy must be running very wild then, if it is capable of constructing a speech you yourself do not understand,"_ the ghost remarked patiently. Lucia could swear she _sensed_ a chuckle in her own mind.

"Get lost," she sighed. "I'll just stick to sitting here like an idiot for the rest of my life."

She felt as if the ghost inside her closed his eyes. His presence, however, did not disappear.

* * *

Aislinn opened her eyes. She was staring at the shaded damaged ceiling of the corridor that had almost become her burial site. She tried to turn her head but her whole body was numb and throbbed with every attempted movement. She let out a silent moan as the throbbing spread in her head.

She heard a movement nearby. Before she could even start thinking of its source, a whisper reached her ears.

"Lass," a voice said.

Just what had happened? Where was she? She forced her mind to work faster. That's right. Markarth. Dwemer ruins. And Brynjolf had been with her the whole time.

"Am I dead?" she asked shakily.

"Gods," a sigh of relief came out of Brynjolf's lungs. "You're alive. I almost thought I'd lost you there."

"Sovngarde is not such a bad place, you know," she said, half teasingly, half seriously.

"The timing of your jokes is absolutely the worst," he said grimly. "How are you feeling?"

"I've felt better. What happened?"

"A slide happened. The elves happened. Some kind of seizure of yours happened. Everything that could possibly go wrong just went ahead and did so. You were… I don't know what happened to you. You stopped moving. Stood there, right under the falling rocks, then fell down without a warning. I had to go back and carry you out of there. A second later you would've been crushed by those boulders. Oh, and the entrance door is blocked. At least the elves don't have a way to get to us now, but given the fact that we're trapped here, I don't think that's something to be happy about."

Aislinn closed her eyes. She remembered a feeling of hopelessness, a feeling of not being able to do anything. A stunning sensation that spread through her body like a venom which it perhaps was, almost preventing her from breathing, let alone moving. Brynjolf had to risk his life to save her. He could have died there. Just like that bard.

But why? A seizure? Was she sick? No, that wasn't it. She tried to concentrate. It took her a while to recollect all the fights they had been through. The guards. The betrayal of Muiri. The Shouting, the wild escape to the Hall of the Dead, through the Understone Keep and finally here. The Understone Keep. The arrow that almost shot Brynjolf down. Her Shout to stop the time. And the reason Brynjolf couldn't react quickly enough to dodge the arrow.

"There was some kind of mist up there in the Keep," she said.

"It was all weird back there. I couldn't see a thing. But you… how did you do it? One moment you were behind me, the next you were in front of me, all the stinking Thalmor down at your feet."

"A Shout," she replied. "To stop the time."

"You can… you can stop the time with a Shout?" his eyes widened in astonishment.

"Only for a while."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Ah, sorry," she apologized. "That probably doesn't make any sense. It's a while for me. For you, it's like no time has passed at all."

"So you can… freeze the rest of the world?"

"I guess you could say it like that."

"You know… you can be pretty scary. I wouldn't want you to be my enemy."

She chuckled.

"They would have gotten me if it wasn't for this Shout," she said silently.

"Maybe, aye. There were quite a few of them."

"Not maybe," she opposed, shaking her head in emphasis. "Most definitely. It's that mist that made me lose control over my body. There's something weird about it."

"Why didn't it affect me then?"

"Because it only affects dragons and those with dragon blood."

He stared at her. "Is such a thing even possible?"

"Apparently. Do you remember the rotten dragon bones we found in my house?"

He nodded slowly.

"And maybe you also remember Llewellyn mentioning a strange mist," she continued.

Another nod.

"I don't think it's a coincidence. And if I didn't use that Shout, the effects would have gotten to me before we could finish the elves. The arrow that was supposed to kill you literally saved me."

"The… what?!" he stared at her in shock, slowly and unwillingly realizing to have been at death's grasp without even knowing it. "You stopped time to save me?"

"Oh… you didn't notice… yeah, I guess I did."

"I… guess we're even then," he exhaled.

"We'll never be even," she whispered. "I owe you for just coming with me, not to mention the number of times you saved my life."

"I don't think it matters anymore," he said softly. She gulped and her face turned bright red as he suddenly leaned over her and looked her in the eyes. His gaze was full of concern but the sudden proximity got the better of her, filling her head with wild thoughts, making her forget all the pain and throbbing her body was going through. She rolled over to get out of his reach and quickly sat up. The moment she did, her head went spinning and she gasped.

"Careful now," she could hear Brynjolf's concerned voice approaching. "Don't strain yourself."

He put his hand on her back to support her from behind.

 _Too close!_ she screamed in her thoughts. _Don't! Get away from me! My heart's going to burst into pieces!_

Being weakened and almost unable to move, she thought it unfair for him to lean so close. He made her feel secure, always protecting her, a silent guardian who always managed to be there for her. So why was it that he also made her feel most insecure?

"Are you all right, lass?" she could hear the urgency in his tone.

 _And now I scared him._

"Yeah," she replied slowly. "Can you… let go of me?"

"I'm sorry…" he took his hands off her. "I didn't mean to…"

"It's okay," she shook her head. "I guess I'm just a little jumpy. So much has happened…"

"Yeah," he agreed. "So much that I have a hard time to believe it myself."

"I have no idea what to think about the people around me anymore," she confessed bitterly. "One minute I gain unexpected allies and the next a person I thought I knew betrays me."

"That alchemy student?" he asked.

She nodded and took a deep breath. A clump of emotions and gathered energy settled in her chest and she felt an irresistible urge to vent them.

"That blasted daughter of a fatty troll mother of a bitch," she grimaced.

He raised a brow in surprise. "What did you just say?"

"The stinking skeever tailbone! The slippery-sloppery ugly ooze of a slimy netch! The smelly rotten buttcrack of a puffy giant! The bloody dung of a fetid chaurus!" she was spitting curses one after another. "Oh, I feel so much better now," she concluded after a while of swearing, sighing contently.

Brynjolf roared with laughter.

"You just made it to the number one spot in my list of the most foul-mouthed people I know," he grinned at her.

"You have a list?" she asked, amused.

"No, but I can always make one."

She laughed.

They rested for what seemed like a few days. They had no track of time and soon learned to count it in the steam puffs that kept coming from a vent of a gilded round machine nearby. "The dinner will be ready in a hundred puffs," was the most common sentence between the two of them. A hundred of puffs. It could be about half an hour but none of them was sure.

They kept exploring the area. The slide blocked the entrance to the main part of Nchuand-Zel but it seemed a new passage had opened at the end of the corridor, even if it was just a crack, straight opposite to the blocked entrance from the Understone Keep. They smiled at the strange coincidence and decided to be on their way once Aislinn regains some of her strength. It took about twenty thousand of steam puffs until they finally packed their things and headed for the unknown.

Due to the fallen rocks, the path was narrow and they sometimes had to crouch one after another or jump over some of them to be able to proceed. Not too long after they had left the entrance corridor they encountered several automatons. Slightly annoyed, Aislinn usually Shouted them down. She managed to find a dwarven bow near one of them but since she had no arrows, she couldn't use it.

"If I recall correctly, you can use some magic," Brynjolf remarked after one of the fights. "Why don't you ever use it on them?"

"Magic?" she laughed. "You expect _me_ to use magic? Believe me, you don't want to see. I worked on my healing spells and I can do enchantments pretty well. But other than that, I utterly suck at it. Hey, don't you dare mention that in the College of Winterhold. It took me quite some effort to become an archmage there. Even if I didn't really come there with that in mind."

"Archmage?" Brynjolf wondered, amused. "You?"

"Well…"

"Haha, you're seriously the best!"

"Hey, don't laugh at me!" she snapped at him jokingly.

"That's what I call a master thief. You can convince an entire university to make you an archmage. With just a few cheap healing spells. I think I know why we call you the boss," he kept laughing, if just to tease her.

Aislinn glared at him.

"So," his tone changed to curious. "How did it happen?"

"I guess I was just in a wrong place at a wrong time. And people just love to dump all their work onto me so it was my job to clear the Saarthal ruins of the draugr horde that was occupying it. Then it went one thing after another. A mysterious sphere of light, the disaster in Winterhold and everything else. The previous archmage died in the process so it was decided I would take his place. Somehow people tend to think that I should be their leader."

"Me included," said Brynjolf with a smile.

"So…" Aislinn turned serious, "do you think I should unite Skyrim?"

Brynjolf stopped walking at once and gave her a pensive look.

"This is a completely different thing," he said slowly. "Leading a guild or an institution requires a lot of paperwork and the ability to kick your henchmen in the butt if they do something wrong. Even if it's a bother, it's doable. But to unite Skyrim… it's just so risky. There will be so many people who would gladly use you and take your place when everything's over. So many fights that you have to win and even more of them requiring you to rely on a bunch of people you don't even know. You noticed it before. People will want to use your power to reach their own selfish goals. They don't really care about you."

"Some of them do," she objected.

"Some of them, aye. But most of them don't. They just want you to save their sorry ass. "

Aislinn sighed. She was sure there was something else that Brynjolf wasn't telling her but she didn't know how to ask him. The image of a bard who had never met her before, lying on the ground with an arrow coming out of his back, flashed in front of her eyes again. She clenched her fists and started walking again. Brynjolf followed her, watching her with a worried expression.

They walked around a corner and saw a large machine with metal bars in its center. It seemed like the path continued on the other side of the bars.

"What's that?" asked Brynjolf, pointing to a set of structures which looked like pillars with horizontal weathervanes at their bottom, resting upon what resembled giant demijohns.

"Tonal resonators. Now this might be a challenge," she said, her eyes studying the structure of the machine in front of her.

There were eight of them. Unwillingly, she stretched out her hand and shot a stream of fire at the one on the left which made Brynjolf give her a curious look. A lid opened on the wall close behind them and a beam of light shone upon a stone right above the bars. She hit the next one and three other lids opened causing multiple beams appear at once. Two of them met halfway and bounced from each other, lighting two small areas elsewhere. Their light did not reach the stone.

"I see," Brynjolf gave an understanding nod. "So that's how it works. What a curious race, these Dwemer."

They worked together until eight beams of light shone on the stone and the bars slid down to let them pass.

"This is unbelievable," Brynjolf whispered. "I wish we had this kind of intelligence in the Guild."

Aislinn chuckled as they walked through another corridor and a door appeared before them. At its feet, several dwarven spiders lay in pieces.

"There are some that are much more challenging than this one," Aislinn said. "And they usually mean you're getting to some kind of an ancient secret that absolutely cannot be discovered."

Brynjolf laughed.

"And in this case, you really are," a voice came from the direction of where they were headed. A dagger appeared in Brynjolf's hand as if it had always been there but Aislinn put her hand on his.

"I think this one is all right," she said.

And she was right. A dark-skinned man came out of the door and Aislinn recognized the Redguard silversmith of Markarth, Endon.

"So, you made it here in one piece!" Endon's voice sounded thrilled.

"Just barely," Brynjolf said brusquely. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Now now, no need to get angry," Endon tried to calm him but it seemed to have a completely opposite effect on the thief.

"I don't like your smile and I don't trust you," Brynjolf hissed. "Do you know how much it took us to get here?"

"I can imagine," Endon replied. "It was already bad enough when I escaped. But I had to, believe me."

"Then how come you're expecting us?" Brynjolf snapped. "Isn't that a little suspicious? Believe me, if it wasn't for the lass here, no thief from the Guild would bother coming all the way down here. We're not like the Dark Brotherhood. We play it safe."

"Oh I was surprised too when I heard she would come," Endon threw up his hands.

"That sounds even more suspicious."

"Brynjolf, please, let him explain," Aislinn addressed his companion with a pleading look.

"All right then," he submitted hesitantly.

"I don't have much to explain," Endon said. "But I think my client would want to see you."

"Your client? She's here?" Aislinn stared at him.

"Yes, she is. Right this way," Endon nodded toward the door behind him.

"Then let's go see her," she commanded.

They followed Endon through the door and down another vast corridor. Steam ascended from the gilded pipes on both sides and several dwarven statues decorated the walls, their face damaged to the extent one wouldn't be able to tell them apart. At the end of the corridor was a door leading to a small square room. There was a stone table in the middle of that room. A hooded figure was sitting on a golden chair next to it.

"The Dragonborn," said a sweet female voice. "At last."

Her hood slid down and revealed a face of an Altmer woman, probably the most beautiful woman Aislinn had ever seen. Dark black hair framed her delicate face and soft features. She was looking at Aislinn with eyes like two sapphires in the sun, bright and deep at the same time, her gaze showing traces of astuteness and intelligence. Her fair skin seemed to lighten up the whole room.

Elegantly, she took a few steps toward Aislinn before Brynjolf blocked her way.

"An Altmer," he hissed. "An Aldmer!"

"I am no enemy of yours," the elf said softly. "It is true that I am officially a part of the Thalmor but in fact I work against them. There is a reason why I asked the Guild to retrieve the pearl claw. I could have taken it myself if I wanted to since we had it in our possession for quite some time but there is no point in me taking it. However, the Thalmor keep a close eye on their own people. They would have noticed right away if I contacted the Dragonborn on my own and they would probably seize this opportunity to capture you. And that's why I had to do it this way."

"I don't understand," Aislinn shook her head, stepping aside so she could look the elf in the eye. "You contacted Endon here in Markarth so he sent a message to Delvin. It was up to Delvin whom he's going to send for the claw. He didn't even know it was a claw. How were you so sure that it would get to me?"

"Because I know the Dragonborn is the leader of the Guild. I left the instruction to retrieve the claw but didn't say anything else, so unless I contacted you again, you had an unfinished deal on your table. You didn't know where to find me, your only clue was Endon and there was a mysterious package in your possession. The Guild is sure to inform their leader of such a thing. And I know you would recognize a dragon claw in your hands."

"Do you realize that what you just said sounds like an unbelievable child story?" Aislinn asked. "Why should we trust you?"

"Well, there are two answers to this and you're not going to like either of them. First, I know you wouldn't miss a chance to explore a Nord tomb which is sure to have something useful for a Dragonborn. Second, you don't really have much choice."

Aislinn clenched her fists.

"What are you scheming?"

"Scheming? Well, if you think that saving Tamriel is scheming…"

"Saving Tamriel? Of course, no big deal. In fact, I'm quite used to it," Aislinn couldn't help a biting comment. "What is it this time?"

"The thing is," the elf said in a silent voice, "that unless you devour the soul of the World-Eater, he's going to keep coming back."

Aislinn and Brynjolf both stared at her in disbelief. She had to be joking.

* * *

 _Another chapter finished! I think with this, the story I originally wanted to write has finally started for real._

 _And made a dream of mine come true. I finally made up some fantasy swears, yay! Huh, I'm still not too confident about my English so maybe it was a facepalm after facepalm for you, but I hope that's not the case. :D_

 _I received a few nice reviews from you guys here and via PMs. Thank you so much! :)_

 _And one final notice - my free time is over and I'll have to start working again so the new chapters probably won't be coming so quickly. Even so, stay tuned. :)_


	8. The Unexpected

**Chapter 8: The Unexpected**

There were four people standing in the small square-shaped room in the depths of Nchuand-Zel. A beautiful she-elf stood right next to a stone table, gazing calmly to her left at Aislinn the Dragonborn whose face bore and unreadable expression, on her right was Endon the silversmith. Between them stood Brynjolf, glaring steadily at the elf.

"I think we should start over again," Aislinn said resolutely. "We missed the introductions, so… you apparently all know me but my name is Aislinn. I am… many things, the Dragonborn among them. This is Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild and this is Endon, our right hand in Markarth… or at least he used to be. Now who are you?" she addressed the beautiful elf on her right.

"My name is Sinawen and I officially work as a courier and an informant for the Thalmor," she replied promptly. "Much to my regret, I'm not among the most trusted ones so there are pieces of information even I don't have. So if you are expecting me to tell you why the Thalmor are after you, I can be of no service. The only thing I know is that Tamriel is still in danger and I can't let anyone take you. Not until you fulfill your destiny."

Brynjolf stared at her in shock.

"What did you just say?"

"At least you're honest," Aislinn answered quickly. She didn't want Brynjolf to start a fight. Not yet, at least. "But I still don't understand. Are you the only Altmer who is actually scared of Alduin?"

"There is more of us but not enough to fight openly. Elenwen and some other 'initiates' seem to have found something regarding Alduin. Something that they found valuable. I say it's playing with fire and necromancy is a child's play compared to this. He is the Destroyer of Worlds, even his name says so."

"You said that I have to devour his soul," Aislinn continued her questioning. "How? I didn't manage to do that the first time I defeated him, how am I supposed to do it now? It's not like I command those souls to enter my body."

"Unfortunately, I don't know that either. But I know the claw in your possession is the key to the answer. At least partially."

"Partially?" Aislinn raised a brow.

"Yes. The tomb you're about to enter is no ordinary tomb. You won't find it anywhere in Tamriel."

"Uh…" Aislinn faltered, "if it's not in Tamriel, then where is it?"

"It was cast away a long time ago. This tomb transcends time. To locate it, you'll need…"

"… an Elder Scroll," Aislinn finished for her, sighing at the thought of having to obtain yet another of those mysterious timeless things always almost cost her life. Brynjolf's eyes widened.

"Yes, and Elder Scroll," Sinawen confirmed. "You're quite bright."

"I guess it's a matter of experience," Aislinn murmured. "Let's say I believe you and I'll do what you say. But where can I find such an Elder Scroll? And who will read it for me?"

"Normally I'd say either the College of Winterhold or somewhere in Cyrodiil. This scroll, however, seems to be bound to dragons, so asking a dragon would be my best guess. You managed to call one to you when you first chased Alduin, right? Could you do it again?"

"No," Aislinn shook her head. "I will not call Odahviing just like that. I'm not going to risk that the Thalmor hear me and kill him before we can even speak a word. The same reason I didn't ask for his help when we were fighting the guards in Markarth."

"You seem to have taken a liking to that dragon. I warn you. They are not your friends," Sinawen pointed firmly.

"Now you talk just like someone I know," Aislinn hissed in remembrance of Delphine and her uncompromising demands to kill her best teacher and the one dragon that had helped her get where she was, purposely avoiding naming anyone, especially in front of a Thalmor. "Don't you dare lecture me like this. I will do what I think is best."

"Whatever you say," the Altmer said indifferently. Aislinn, who was starting to feel irritated at her arrogance, edgily cracked her fingers. An Altmer is still an Altmer, it seems. "Just find a dragon and look for the scroll."

"There's just one small problem," Brynjolf suddenly broke out of his silence. "How do we even get out of here?"

"That shouldn't be a problem at all," Endon smiled. "We have to get our supplies somewhere, you know. It's not like we can catch a deer or pick up herbs here in the ruins."

"So…"

"So I think you're going to like this," he grinned.

The two travelers gave him a curious look.

He pulled a lever in a corner of the room and a smaller hidden door appeared opposite the entrance. They had to crouch to be able to pass through it. On the other side, there was a corridor which descended steeply into a vast hall. When Aislinn entered it, she gasped and stood quietly in awe for a moment.

A huge machine filled most of the hall, the majority of it made by a number of large parallel tubes lined up horizontally, which were open at the top. Inside some of the tubes were containers similar to some kind of boats made in dwarven metal. The tubes led to a series of tunnels on the other side of the hall. Each tube started with a counter holding a set of buttons. The whole place seemed alive. It was brighter than most of the dwarven ruins Aislinn had visited so far. There were embossments on the side walls depicting various people and lands with the exception of a small area with a door on the right side of the hall. Water was flowing from some of them, falling into small ponds in sparkling waterfalls. Aislinn could also notice some water at the bottom of most of the tubes. Wharfs with stairs leading up to them were constructed around each of the tubes making the boats inside them accessible.

"This looks like a huge underground port," Aislinn said with an amazed expression.

"That's because it is," Endon said, his lips curling in a bright smile. "I discovered this place by accident when I found a lever in my house. It leads to a chamber right next to this which was probably used for sending mail. I tried sending something several times but I couldn't figure out how the mechanism worked. This, however," he waved at the huge tubes, "is a different story. I spent ages here trying to figure out how this works. And I did."

"Where do these tubes lead, actually?" Brynjolf asked curiously.

"Well, everywhere, that's the thing. I'm still trying to figure out some of the destinations but apparently this is just a small part of a huge mechanism that runs underneath most of Skyrim. It connects one Dwemer city with another. But the entrances to the ports are usually well hidden. The Dwemer didn't really like to share their secrets."

"This is amazing," Aislinn said, holding her breath unconsciously. "If people knew about this, all Skyrim would change. Maybe even all Tamriel."

"Lass, what are you thinking about?" Brynjolf asked, giving her another of his worried looks, his brows furrowed.

"The possibilities," she whispered in a mysterious voice.

Endon chuckled. The thief didn't share his amusement.

"So how does this actually work?" Aislinn asked, stepping forward to take a look at the counters with buttons.

"You have to know the button combinations to be able to travel. I made a list of the ones I discovered. It was actually pretty fun. There is a combination for every underground port in Skyrim, so if you for example press this," he pointed at the button on the top right corner of one of the counters, "and this," the middle bottom button followed, "you can go to Mzinchaleft. I first had to send a boat with some more or less worthless stuff in it. The lights on the buttons turn off once the boat arrives at its destination and you can send it back from here as well. This way I discovered if the places were safe. Then I tried to travel there myself and find out where I ended up. Some of the places had the way out blocked so I had to take a ride back here. But some of them I could locate on the map of Skyrim. Then I made my own map of the underground ports I know of. I plan to keep on updating it."

"I'm starting to love the Dwemer," Aislinn grinned. "This could save us so much trouble. All the Thalmor we could avoid."

"I'm having my doubts about this…" Brynjolf said skeptically, "but I guess it's still better than fighting a horde of elves. Anyway, do you have any armor or weapons around here? I don't feel safe traveling a completely unknown area totally vulnerable."

"Not much," Endon furrowed his brows. "There's probably some dwarven armor and maybe a few weapons in that room up there," he waved in the direction of where they had come from, "and we do have some arrows," a hopeful smile crossed Aislinn's face when he mentioned the arrows, "but overall we don't have much to offer you. Come and look for yourselves."

They went up the corridor and entered the square room again. There was a deep drawer underneath the table at the center with a set of dwarven armor and a quiver of arrows inside. A great dwarven sword rested against a wall in one corner of the room along with a dwarven bow.

"That's really not much," Aislinn frowned.

"You take the armor, lass," Brynjolf suggested. "You're just as good with heavy armor as you're with the light one and you need protection more than I do."

"I disagree," Aislinn objected. "They don't care about you but they want me alive."

"I wouldn't be so sure that being captured alive by them would be any better than your death though," Sinawen's sweet voice rang from behind them. "I agree with master thief here that you should take the armor, Dragonborn."

"Fine," Aislinn sighed. "I'll take it. But don't you dare die on me, Brynjolf."

"That's my line," he said. "And I'll be fine. I was used to wearing a crappy old piece of thief leather armor anyway."

"I still can't figure out how you could survive in it," Aislinn shook her head.

"Oh I have my ways," Brynjolf smiled mysteriously.

"Nocturnal's luck, that's what you have," she murmured.

"If it's a thief armor you're looking for, I can give you mine," Endon proposed. "I won't be needing it anyway."

"If you don't mind," Brynjolf shrugged. Despite that, Aislinn could see a slight sign of relief in his face.

Endon disappeared for a moment and returned with a set of leather armor. It looked sturdier than the one Brynjolf had been wearing before and there were small scales of dark metal attached to most of its surface.

"This looks pretty good," Brynjolf commented appreciatively. "What is this?"

"I improved it a little," Endon smiled with a slight blush. "Ebony. There are only two weak spots. The armpits and the crotch."

"I think Brynjolf is more than capable of protecting his crotch," Aislinn chuckled. The thief shook his head.

They changed separately into their new armors, both of them now carrying a bow and a dagger. Aislinn took the great sword and handed Brynjolf the one-handed elven one she'd picked up during her fight with the Thalmor. She wasn't too happy about having to use a two-handed weapon but kept her doubts to herself as she didn't want to worry her companion. She preferred that Brynjolf have a more suitable weapon for him. After all, she did have some magic and the Shouts in her pocket.

Meanwhile, Endon spread a few pieces of paper on the table. There were several charts, a list of port button combinations and an unfinished map. They gathered and studied it.

"The place I want to go to," Aislinn started, "is High Hrothgar. Coincidentally, I think it might be the safest place for me at the moment."

Endon raised his eyebrows. "High Hrothgar? Will you be able to find a dragon there?"

"Maybe the Greybeards count as a dragon," Brynjolf said thoughtfully. "They are the masters of voice and know a lot about these things, you know."

"It's my best shot," Aislinn said without mentioning Paarthurnax's name. Best if he's kept a secret for as long as possible.

"All right then. Let's move on," Endon urged them. "High Hrothgar… best if you take this route then," he pointed at one of the shorter lines on his map. "This should lead you close to Raldbfar. The exit is on the southern side so that should work to your advantage. Moreover, you'll be close to Whiterun. Stay in the Whiterun hold as long as you can. I don't know if you heard about it but jarl Balgruuf refused to let the Thalmor in the city and had many of them chased out of his hold. I don't know how much longer he can hold up against them, though. There will be more coming. Gods protect us now."

"At least someone refuses to lick their feet," Brynjolf grimaced.

"I guess that should be all then," Endon said at last. "You take these with you," he handed them the map and the list of combinations. "I made a copy and besides, you'll need them more than I do. I'll show you one last thing. Let's go."

They headed back to the port. Aislinn and Brynjolf entered one of the boats, watched Endon push a set of buttons and then pull a lever on one side of the counter they hadn't noticed before, Aislinn watching him attentively to make sure he picks the right destination. The water in the tube bubbled and whirled and its level started to rise slowly. They could hear a noise from the tunnels as the tubes moved to make an uninterrupted path to Raldbthar.

"The underground water is kept out, probably as a protection against flooding, so if you want to travel, you have to fill the desired tube with it after selecting your destination," he explained. "Then you push this," he pointed at a button on the opposite side of the counter from the lever, "and the boat will start moving. There are vents along the way you can use if you need to escape but remember that the boat cannot be stopped once the current takes over it." He inhaled. "I guess this is goodbye. Good luck to you. Stay safe."

"Good luck to you too," said Aislinn as she felt her chest tighten a little.

"Eyes open, walk with the shadows," Brynjolf saluted.

Aislinn gave him a last grateful look before pushing the confirmation button. The water level rose again and the boat started gliding a small wave that appeared behind it and moved to the tunnel in front of them. Soon, they were blinking their eyes, trying to accustom themselves to the darkness in the tunnel.

 _Good luck and do save us, please,_ Endon wished quietly as he watched their figures fade in the shades. He turned around, walking slowly back to the square chamber.

"So, have they left?" Sinawen asked him curiously, her sweet voice echoing through the corridor.

"Yeah," Endon smiled at her. "We're alone again."

"Aren't you worried about your family?" the elf asked with an unreadable expression. "Just where did you say you sent them?"

"Bthardamz," he replied, his smile fading. "They should be all right as long as they do as I instructed them to. My wife is a smart woman and my daughter is even smarter. They'll be just fine." He didn't sound too convinced by his own words.

"Good," she said in an even sweeter voice than usual as she walked behind him. "Now I have you all to myself."

"Sorry," he replied, perplexed. "You're very beautiful and all but I'm not really interested."

She approached him and he could feel her breath on his neck.

"You don't have to apologize," she whispered. "It's all right. It just means that you're not needed anymore."

A dagger pierced his back and went through his stomach.

"No…" He tottered. "Oh no… what have I… Adara…" the name of his daughter escaped his lips as the elf cut his throat. His body collapsed on the ground. Sinawen stood above him in triumph for a moment before heading to the mailing room.

* * *

A tall elf was standing near a Dwemer mechanism with a round container and two tubes leading from it, one of them penetrating the wall behind it, at a small room in the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood. It had taken him a lot of time and effort to arrange this but finally he'd persuaded the owner to hire him the room permanently for a small fortune. He'd been working on connecting this mechanism from here to the Dwemer postal system for ages before heading to Riften, and now he was back, waiting. At last, he heard a clicking sound. A lid on one of the tubes coming from the machine opened and an elongated round box fell to the ground. He picked it up, opened it and pulled out a rolled-up piece of paper. Unrolling it, he checked its contents. The message was very brief.

 _High Hrothgar. Wrong dragon. Top priority._

"Oh," he whispered to himself. "So our lady refused the suggestion and took a longer route. Too bad."

He quickly packed his things and left the inn. Dark clouds were gathering from the west, foretelling a storm. That didn't look good. He had to be quick if he didn't want to get noticed. He ran for a while before reaching a grey horse tied to a tree. He undid the knot that had tied him, jumped on his back in an elegant leap and without losing another minute, he heeled him to hurry. They cantered through the woods and up the hills. The elf knew the area well as he had crossed it many times while figuring out how to connect his mailing device to the distant Dwemer mechanism in Bthalft, so he had no problems cutting his way the shortest possible, turning expertly round the ancient pines and avoiding the steep slopes leading to dead ends. A snowstorm complicated his journey when he had passed Ivarstead. The road up to High Hrothgar was a living hell. The wind kept weeping in his ears and swaying his body, making it impossible for him to notice trolls and wild animals before they approached him. He was a skilled magic user, making a quick work of them, but it still took more time than he had hoped. Finally, he reached the monastery above, a sight of great stone structure with a grand tower in its front, the window in the middle leading to a leap which would perhaps host a dragon, opening before his eyes.

"What brings you here, traveler?" a voice asked as he entered the main hall.

There were several hooded figures kneeling by small carpets which lay about or standing around, all silent in their meditation.

Without a word, he grabbed both hands of the man who had spoken to him and twisted them behind his back. He squeezed his wrists in one hand and drew a dagger with the other, pressing it against his neck.

"I have your leader," he whispered in a dangerous voice. "And if you value him, you will show me to the top of this mountain."

"Don't!" yelled the hostage. The rest of the men opened their mouths but they found themselves thrown up in the air by an enormous force as the elf Shouted.

"Don't even try that, weaklings," the elf hissed. "Now lead me up the mountain."

They slowly got back on their feet but didn't seem to yield to his request.

"I'm running out of patience," he growled. "Hurry up if you don't want your beloved Dovakhiin to have to fight me."

His last sentence was enough to make them move out as he commanded.

* * *

Aislinn and Brynjolf hurried up the mountain. They managed to get here much faster than they had thought. Following Endon's instructions, they made a slight detour and traveled through the Whiterun hold as long as possible. Their road was one of the safest they had had in the past ten days. Even with a good night's rest, they soon found themselves standing at the feet of the long slope leading to High Hrothgar. A snowstorm was raging there when they arrived.

They were climbing up the mountain, their backs bent against the violent wind, their faces stinging as the ice-cold snowflakes landed on them. The road was barely visible, making them easy targets for any creatures that would decide to make them their prey. But no creatures came after them.

Finally, they saw the proud monastery in front of them. Aislinn exhaled as she opened the door to a dark hall lit only by a handful of candles. Brynjolf followed her, staring at the monumental structures around him in awe. Silence welcomed them, as if the existence itself gave way to some higher power. Nothing moved here save for the flickering flames of the candlelight.

"I never thought I would come to see such a thing," he whispered. He expected Aislinn to smile but noticed vibes of tension coming out of her whole body.

"What's wrong?" he asked, scared of the answer.

"There's no-one here," she whispered in horror. "There's just… there's no-one here!" she repeated, panicking.

"Calm down, maybe they went out or something…"

"They didn't. They never do. Even the corridors are empty."

"So what now?"

"Hurry," she urged without explanation.

He followed her through the monastery to the courtyard behind it. There was a passage further up the mountain on their right. Aislinn headed straight to it when they heard a roaring sound. A flash of violet light blinded them a moment after that. Aislinn froze for a moment before breaking into a run.

 _"Lok Vah Koor!"_ he heard her Shout on the run.

"Lass, what are you…" A strong blast of wind interrupted Brynjolf's question. He gave up and ran after her.

 _"Lok Vah Koor!"_ she Shouted countless times as they kept running. The wind and the snow before them gave way as she did.

Finally, they reached the snowy summit of the mountain. A dragon lay in their view motionless, countless of his golden-white scales scattered around his giant body, partly burned. Behind him, several lying bodies in dark grey hooded robes could be recognized, two of which seemed to be moving. Brynjolf wondered if he was supposed to admire the poor creature or be sorry for it. Even as it lay there, it seemed majestic and proud, a fallen god bidding farewell to the world he had once called his home. The thief he was, he couldn't help but guess how much would a handful of these beautiful scales be worth. The thought was gone, however, the moment he glanced at his companion.

"No!" Aislinn yelled, her face paler than the snow under her feet, sheer horror shaping her face into a dreadful grimace. "No, no, NO!" This could not be happening. This was Paarthurnax, her teacher and a loyal ally on her quests. The great master who had taught her to meditate and look at the world from many perspectives, and the one stable point in the world she had taken for granted. He had always been there, whenever she had been in need of him, never judging, never demanding. He had been the one she could rely on, her guide and her backup. Always. But not anymore.

She hurried to the dragon, shivering, tripping on her way.

"Lass!" Brynjolf called to her in dismay. She ignored him.

"Paarthurnax…" Aislinn whispered. "This can't be…"

The dragon slowly opened one eye, a cat-like pupil focusing on her from a golden iris. She gasped, suddenly raising a hand in attempt to use a healing spell.

"Drem yol lok, Dovakhiin," the dragon said calmly, his deep voice resonating in the air. "Dreh ni unt ko naaf. Do not waste your efforts. No healing spell can help a dying dragon."

"But…"

"I had already accepted my fate long time ago. Til los nid filok. You cannot change this, Dovakhiin. Now, you have come for a purpose, have you not?"

"I… I need an Elder Scroll," Aislinn said shakily, forcing her knees to stay in their place, however they were close to buckling. "One that can take me to some ancient Nord tomb which is not located in Tamriel."

"Ah, this one. Tiid lost bo. It has come to it at last. Unfortunately, I cannot help you with this. Krosis. That place was cast beyond the boundaries of our time by Alduin himself. Pahlok bo viing naal viing voth faas. In his fear, he rid the world of a powerful tool that could serve to end his reign. You will have to find a dragon that has been very loyal to him."

"But how can I find one?" she asked desperately.

"Frolok ahst fos hi koraav. Keep your eyes open and look around. You will find what you seek."

"What does that mean?"

Paarthurnax closed his eyes and a fearful premonition clouded Aislinn's mind. "They are all around. _Dez motmahus._ My time has come, Dovakhiin. It is time to bid you farewell. From now on, I will live as a part of you. Su'um ahrk morah." His voice slowly faded away.

"No…" she whispered in denial. "Please... no!"

Golden light emitted from the dragon's body. Its sparks rose up to the air like myriads of golden fireflies and whirled towards Aislinn. She staggered back as though she was trying to refuse them. Destiny, ever so merciless, apprehended her, however, and faster than the wind in her face, they encircled her and entered her body as she fell to her knees, burning tears sliding down her cheeks.


	9. Hidden within the Grasp

**Chapter 9: Hidden within the Grasp**

The pitch black sky was sprinkled with millions of sparkling stars, myriads of brilliants that held secrets and destinies of every existence, living or nonliving. Under those stars, a dragon was flying freely, gliding the currents of the wind with elegance that could hardly be surpassed by any being other than another dragon. But Lucia had to surpass them all. She had to be absolute in every sense there could be. The proudest, the mightiest, the most elegant. The wisest.

 _"Turn into someone that you are not in order to discover who you are,"_ she had been told. _"Know the limits of a dovah, while you know the feeling of an absolute existence. Learn what one is and what one is not. Learn what one can and what one cannot. Bask in the absolute glory before you shrink into the boundaries of existence. Learn from your pain and disappointment. Learn how to strive."_

He always talked to her in riddles. Most of it she did not understand. But he let her live in her dreams, guiding her through many places, changing her world every time he let her dive in it. It wasn't always pleasant. He had made her soar to the sky and reign the beautiful land below her only to bind her to the ground and make her feel small and helpless later. Once, he had imprisoned her in a small cramped room without a door or a window where she could barely sit down. He had made her stay there for what seemed like eternity to her and had only let her out when she had started screaming, insanity slowly taking over her mind and body.

Her dreams were pure madness, one moment letting her make all the choices in the world without consequences, the other stripping her of every right except for the right to exist. She couldn't control them anymore. He was always dictating the pace, planting illusions in her mind as he pleased. At the very beginning, she had been able to control her dreams, making the world appear just as she had wanted, possessing the freedom of becoming whatever she had wished. Gradually, he had been taking this right from her, giving her less and less choice with every dream that followed until complete insecurity had filled her mind and body. At this moment, she was awaiting her dreams helplessly, not knowing what she would become and what options she would be presented with. The only thing she was sure about was that every following dream would be different from any other dream she had had before.

As time passed, Lucia slowly realized she had grown accustomed to the changes and the uncertainty of her illusory existence. It had been painful at the beginning but her feelings slowly settled at a point where she just kept waiting for whatever might come, calm, composed.

 _"You have become stronger, my child,"_ he told her. _"I will soon teach you the importance of the ability to choose your own destiny. It is something that defined my life and made me who I am at its very end. Rest for now, you will need your strength soon enough."_

Lucia opened her eyes. Her body was shaking a little after another set of experience that would seem too much to bear if gone through within a single lifetime. She had been through so many such lifetimes she didn't even remember all of them anymore. But the feelings that had filled her mind and body with every new experience remained.

She looked around the round room which served as her prison. It was morning, sunlight slowly making its way to the tall window on the eastern side of the room. Ever since he had contacted her, she had only been dreaming at night, making the day her resting time. She didn't rest when she was dreaming and felt rather exhausted every time she had come to. Surprisingly, the dreams seemed to take much longer than the days she always woke into. Despite knowing she had just been imprisoned for a few days, it felt more like years, or maybe centuries.

There was noise coming from the corridor behind the locked door on the northern side of the room. It happened from time to time as the elves who had imprisoned her always seemed restless on their feet but this time she could feel a slight change in the air. She crawled silently to the door and pressed herself against it.

She could hear several sets of footsteps crossing the corridor in a hurry. Then, a deep melodic voice spoke silently.

"Seems like one of our own made contact with the Dragonborn," the voice whispered. "Elenwen and the others are going crazy. I think she decided not to trust anyone at all. Accused four people of various stuff. I'm pretty sure none of them had anything to do with this."

"Any clue who _could have_ actually done it?" a higher voice said. It sounded like a whisper of the wind in the tree branches and Lucia felt strangely drawn to it.

"None at all," the deep voice replied. "I suspect it would be someone who has been on a mission for quite some time now. I'm certain they had to plan it before we even took action in the cities. And I doubt that person is here now."

"Do you think they know something of Elenwen's plans?"

"You mean more than we do? Maybe. Maybe not. I'm starting to think they might have a point though. Elenwen is growing paranoid. It seems she even sent the Hunter after some of our members."

"The Hunter? Just what is she planning? Where do those people disappear to anyway?"

"No idea. I'm not even sure if I _want_ to know."

"Oh, I want to know," the wind-like voice said softly. "I have a feeling that Elenwen is playing with powers she's not supposed to have. She fears the Dragonborn," the voice turned into a whisper so quiet that Lucia could hardly make out the words. "She sees the savior of Tamriel as a threat. Why would she do that if there was nothing of the sort?"

"Still, why would you want to know?"

"Because if there is such a power, I don't want to have anything to do with it."

"You know that this alone could make you Elenwen's next target?"

"Renadil," the soft voice spoke seriously. "There are things not even the Dominion should have the right to do. I am growing fed up with all this pretense. The Thalmor don't trust each other anymore, people talking behind each other's backs, scheming, devising. Fear and distrust have taken over us. Whatever placed them among us, it's going to break us apart if we give way to it."

"You are not wrong, my friend," Renadil agreed with a sigh. "But I fear for you. What can a single person do in such a vast world?"

Lucia could hear a soft chuckle.

"A single person could change it entirely." The sentence sounded as if it was referring to someone. Lucia had a feeling she knew the person.

* * *

The storm seemed to have returned but Aislinn did not care. She could barely feel the tears on her cheeks freezing in the cold. Someone was playing a cruel game with her, making her the center and momentum of death and suffering. She wished to end it, to escape it. But how could she? Would the suffering stop if she just disappeared? It wasn't fair. She had felt so special ever since she had come to know she was a Dragonborn. She had had a purpose, people had sought her and found her important. She had been granted enough power and control to move around freely without ever being threatened by anyone. Saving the world had not sounded so bad then – a simple favor for all the freedom she had attained. But not anymore. It seemed like the whole world was against her despite her trying to save it. And if it couldn't threaten her, it threatened the lives of the people and creatures she cared about.

Brynjolf approached her, putting an arm around her shoulders gently.

"Leave me alone," she said quietly.

"No." The answer was simple, uncompromising.

"Let me be. I want to be alone," she raised her voice slightly.

"And I'm saying I won't let you," he insisted. "I leave you alone and then what? What will you do? Where will you go? I'm worried. And besides, I don't think people should be left alone in this state."

"Then you don't understand me one bit," she hissed. "I'm not going to commit a suicide. Even I can figure that it wouldn't help anything and anyone if I did. But for the Nine's sake, I need some time to think, Brynjolf, so just leave me alone!"

He pulled back, shocked, pain suddenly displaying in his eyes no matter how much he tried to conceal it. He noticed she had stopped crying the moment he had touched her. An incredible amount of pain and suffering flashed through her eyes occasionally but she was desperately trying to hold them inside, to not let him see her tears. It was unsettling, agonizing. She wouldn't lean on him, let him comfort her.

He slowly turned around, walking a short distance before sitting on a rock, facing the road they had climbed here. Then he heard a silent hoarse voice behind him and quickly jumped on his feet again.

"Dovakhiin," the voice whispered painfully.

Aislinn looked over the dragon corpse unwillingly. A hooded figure was crawling toward her through the drifts.

"Arngeir," she responded. Under the grey hood, a weary face of an old man appeared.

"I am so sorry, Dovakhiin. We couldn't stop him..."

"Arngeir!" Aislinn leaned over to him, anxiousness in her voice. She used the spell she had meant to use on Paarthurnax before on him and on another figure that crawled behind him. "Tell me... who did it? Who did this to Paarthurnax?"

"No, Dovakhiin," he said and raised his head, looking at her pleadingly. "You must not go after him. Do not stray from your path for a selfish reason such as revenge. Paarthurnax died to protect you. He did this to aid you. Do not disparage his sacrifice."

"Died to protect _me_?" Aislinn stared at him in horror. "Why... how..."

"This particular elf knew you would come. He was expecting you but... willing to leave if we submitted. He left under the impression all of us were already dead."

"Why?!" she cried, grief framing her face. "Why would you do something like that?! Why didn't you let me help you?!"

"He was strong." Arngeir's voice was shaking with exhaustion. "Too strong. He controlled the Thu'um just as well as you do and wielded magic so powerful that he could take down a mountain if he wished it."

"But... if he's this dangerous..."

"Don't stray from your path, Dovakhiin," Arngeir repeated. "Do what you must. I'm sure you will find a way to defeat him eventually. But as you are now, you are not strong enough and you are not ready. There is more to him than meets the eye. He has mastered himself."

"What does that mean?" Aislinn asked with a helpless expression.

"Paarthurnax had mastered himself when he had joined our side. He had absolute control over his body and mind, his emotions did not sway. But, as unlikely as it may seem, dragons are limited by their own nature. He had decided to join us in our fight against Alduin and for centuries he'd been making the right choices. He chose the Way of the Voice to guide him and it made him strong and solid. But he could not overcome the boundaries of a dragon. You can, because you have two natures inside you. You will become stronger."

Aislinn shook her head, not seeming to make much of it.

"Why did they do it anyway? Why did Paarthurnax have to die?"

"I suppose it's exactly because of this," Arngeir sighed bitterly. "He died because he had the power of understanding his nature. Your enemies fear it, Dovakhiin, and they will try to prevent you from obtaining it. They do not realize, however, that you can find it within you on your own. I am sure Paarthurnax's soul will guide you."

"I... I will miss him," she whispered.

"And so shall we," came the response.

Sudden wind came from the sky and then a shadow overcast the cloudy grey sky above Aislinn. She could see a large winged body approach the ground beside her as she raised her head to look up. A silver dragon with a ridge in the color of vermillion flew over her and landed just a few inches from her. She recognized Odahviing, the dragon who had helped her reach Sovngarde when she had been chasing Alduin previously.

"Drem yol lok, Dovakhiin," the dragon greeted her. "I have heard your weeping. Krosis mul zul. You are indeed the first human who would weep for a dovah. Zin hah sil. As much as I do not comprehend this, I find it honorable. My respect for you has yet grown."

"Drem yol lok, Odahviing," she whispered, her eyes piercing the ground at his feet. She couldn't look him in the eyes. Unable to hold her grief inside anymore, she could feel tears filling her eyes again. She remembered Sinawen's suggestion to call Odahviing. Clenching her fists, she cursed the woman silently. Why did she do this to her? Why didn't she kill her right away? Was it so amusing to play with her like this? Did it feel nice to see her break down and suffer? She thought about the Elder Scroll and considered the possibility that there was no such thing. But Paarthurnax had known of it. It had to be there and again, it was the only lead she had. So even if the sly Altmer was after the Scroll, she had to obtain it.

"I need your help again," she pleaded with a resigned voice.

"And so I came. Nel ven bo. What is it that you need, Dovakhiin?"

"An Elder Scroll that could get me to a place that doesn't exist in Tamriel."

"I see you are seeking forsaken knowledge and the greatness of your loss did not shake your determination to find it. The Scroll you are looking for is right here. Vahzen bo hiiv."

"Right here?" Aislinn wondered, curiosity replacing the sorrow in her face for the first time. "You mean like... here at the Throat of the World?"

"Enookstaad. It is in you and in me. It is within your reach, just as it is within the reach of any existent being, but it is also out of your reach, just as it is out of the reach of any existent being."

"So... how do I get it?"

"You use your Thu'um, Dovakhiin. Alduin protected the Scroll well, however. You will have to find the three words that open the path to it. They are guarded by sleeping dovah, three dragons more powerful than any being you might have encountered on your journey. They respond to no-one and they will not hear your Voice. I hear you have mastered the Thu'um that bends will. But these dragon masters bow to no-one except Alduin. Once you wake them from their slumber, it is a fight to your death. Mul yol kron."

"Then I have to defeat them," Aislinn said resolutely. "Can you show me where I can find them?"

"There is a deserted land not far to the north of the Hjaalmarch border. You can see the great Blue Palace of Solitude when you soar from there. When you reach it, search for a place even the darkness fears. You will know when you see it. Frolok ahst fos hi koraav."

Aislinn's eyes widened. She didn't know the meaning of the words Odahviing had just said but she remembered Paarthurnax saying the exact same words as one of his last before he had passed.

"Look at what you see. Frolok ahst fos hi koraav," Odahviing explained as he realized the cause of Aislinn's confusion. "Come back when you have fulfilled your destiny definitely. I will teach you the tongue of the dovah."

She nodded in silent acceptance and finally managed to look at the dragon. He was watching her closely, studying the language of her shivering body.

"Do not fear, Dovakhiin," he said to her, his strong voice vibrating in the air. "You will find the Scroll and seal the World-Eater's doom, for I would not have chosen you had I not trusted you and your strength. It is time for me to say goodbye but we will meet again. Lok Thu'um."

"Odahviing," she addressed him quietly.

He waited.

"Do not die."

"Faas ni." And with that, he spread his wings and took to the sky.

Aislinn watched Odahviing fly to the distant horizon and then took a deep breath. For some reason, she felt peaceful. The mumbling voices and hisses occasionally taking over her mind seemed to have stopped, tranquility spreading through her body. She looked at Paarthurnax's skeleton and a wave of gratitude overflowed her. He was indeed a part of her now.

A crispy voice mumbled grumpily behind her.

"Great. Just great," Brynjolf snorted sarcastically. "So when we finally get through the most guarded and protected city of Skyrim, without protection, you pretending to be blind and setting yourself in a great disadvantage, we fight our way right into a cave slide where you get a seizure, get betrayed by a cursed Altmer who doesn't fit in any group of enemies we've met so far, travel in a cramped tube, climb the highest mountain in Skyrim fighting the worst possible weather, just to find our allies defeated, then what? You're told to travel the land full of the damn Thalmor again to fight the fiercest and scariest enemies you could imagine. Three of them. Sure, no problem. Next time you'll be asked to fight a volcano."

"You don't have to come with me, Brynjolf," Aislinn said in a calming tone as she turned around to face him. "You already did so much for me that I could never ask for more. I am going to Riften first to get some protection, weapons and supplies at the Thieves Guild. Stay there and return to your previous life, it suits you better than this. I will continue on my own."

"No," he said, his voice razor-sharp with determination. "You most definitely will not. It was my choice to go with you in the first place and it is my choice to accompany you until the end. You can tie me down and lock me up inside the most secure prison in the world. But I am a master thief and there is no chain or lock that could hold me in place if I don't want it to. I will follow you to the depths of Oblivion if I have to."

"W... why..." Aislinn faltered, taken aback by his absolute resolve.

"Because..." He hesitated. A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. "Because I don't want the Thieves Guild to lose the best boss they've had in ages."

She stared at him in disbelief. He lied. He lied so obviously! Did he really think she would fall for such a transparent lie? No, he probably didn't. Perhaps he just didn't want her to know the actual reason and didn't care if she got mad at him for it. And she did. She took a few reserved steps toward him, walking slowly, her expression steadily growing furious. Raging sparks shooting from her golden eyes, she noticed him close his eyes as she raised her hand and slapped him in his face.

"Fine!" she yelled. "It's all for the Guild, how generous of you! I'll show you the boss! I hope the flames of Oblivion take the Thieves Guild! I hope the Daedra eat you alive and that you rot in their stomachs! I'm leaving!" She gave a quick look to Arngeir and his companion, nodded them farewell and galumphed to the road leading down to High Hrothgar.

Brynjolf couldn't help a silly smile. He bowed to the two Greybeards and followed her down the deserted snowy mountain path to the wild land that was sure to give them an unpleasant welcome. He thought it was about time he got used to it.

* * *

 _So, you made it through another chapter of my fic. Thank you so much for reading it, reviewing it, following it and liking it!_

 _And a recommendation at the end: RisingPhoenix56 is writing a fic called "Song of the Nightingale" here on FF-net. I started reading it last week and I loved it. I read the second chapter yesterday and I loved it even more, so try it. :D_


	10. For Freedom

**Chapter 10: For Freedom**

Samuel quickly slid his hand along the wooden casing until he found a handle. Quietly he opened the door and slipped inside the building, sneaking his way along the counter, across the too-open-for-his-taste room with tables and chairs and up the stairs. This time, he made sure Haelga wasn't at work. Svana wasn't a problem and he was sure no guest would come here today. On his left was a wall shared by two adjacent rooms. The one on the left was the one he'd found the special guest at during his first mission. The one on the right was his destination this time. Or, to be precise, the small storage room behind it. He went through the small corridor the wall on his left created, passed the beds in the bedroom, crept in the storage room quickly and closed the door behind him. Skillfully, he locked it and looked around. There were several barrels lying about and a few crates in the corner. He checked the contents and decided to hide in one of the barrels. Only a small amount of herbs was on the bottom and it looked dry and cozy. He squeezed in there, put the lid over it loosely and waited.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours. He was waiting patiently, quietly studying the texture of the wooden barrel he was sitting in. It was dark and he could barely make out his own fingers, but he felt the surface of the wood as he touched it and it somehow made him feel reassured. At last, he heard several pairs of footsteps coming into the bedroom right next to him.

"So," a honeyed male elven voice said, "they heard the Dragonborn Shout at High Hrothgar. That place is far from everything and hardly anyone comes there. As far as we know, she was last seen in Markarth, escaping with a guy of little over-average height with dark brown hair falling somewhere above his shoulders and a little tall face that humans would probably find handsome. He was wearing a light grey shirt and a pair of thin leather trousers looking like a hundred years old fashion. And we all know this description will not fit because he was disguised. So... handsome, little over-average height and hair which is definitely not dark brown. The thing is they escaped to Nchuand-Zel where there was a slide. Meaning they found a way out and it wasn't through the city. Reached High Hrothgar in an unbelievably short time and fought with something there. Currently we don't know if the Dragonborn is alive."

"Oh, she is alive, that's for sure," another elven voice opposed. "Lady Elenwen has a way to find out. She needs her alive and I don't want to know what she would do to all of us if the Dragonborn died."

"Is her... 'way' reliable?"

"It is the most reliable thing you could ever imagine."

"So what now?"

"Someone head for High Hrothgar and find out what she was fighting there. Take the rotstone with you and do not even attempt to fight the Dragonborn without using it. Even if she doesn't have any quality equipment, she is dangerous. You, Nelayn, get out there and urge the peasants to look for the impostor. Here," Samuel heard the clinking sound of coins in a pouch, "they will respond to this. They always do."

"And the worshippers of Talos..."

"Do not kill them. The Hunter will come and select the best. Lady Elenwen needs the strong ones."

"What does she use them for anyway?"

"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell _you_ about it. This knowledge is reserved to the most trusted."

"Well, I'm _sorry_ ," a sharp-tongued reply reached Samuel's ears.

The elves sounded anxious, on the edge. He wondered if they would start a fight if the conversation continued a little longer. But it didn't. The meeting was adjourned soon after and all the elves except for the one who seemed the most informed of them all had left. Samuel heard a creak as the elf lay down on one of the beds. Samuel himself had tried these beds countless times during the last few days. He remembered the sound of each and every one them and knew exactly where the elf was lying. This was perfect. He wouldn't notice the door being opened from there. Samuel had a perfect chance to check if the elf was asleep and if the air was clear.

Very slowly and cautiously he lifted the lid resting on his barrel supporting it with fingers of just one hand. He then grabbed the edge of the barrel with his other hand, slowly stood up and got out of the barrel in absolute silence. Treading lightly across the room with his bare feet, he crouched before the door and took a lockpick out of a pouch that was tied to his belt. His dexterous fingers worked swiftly and soon the door clicked open quietly. He opened it ajar and carefully looked around. The room was lit dimly by a lingering flame from the fireplace on his right. Opposite of the fireplace, an Altmer lay on a bed with his gilded armor still on, facing the entrance corridor and breathing steadily. His long gold-copper-colored hair covered a part of his pale face and spread around him like a fan. Samuel cussed in his thoughts. The cursed hair made his job so much harder.

He crept silently behind the elf and prayed to Nocturnal so that he wouldn't get noticed. He put his right hand in his pocket and pulled out an amulet which looked like a short sword that had an elegantly decorated double-edged axe instead of a guard. The amulet of Talos. Holding his breath, he pulled the elf's hair out of his face and then bared his neck. Cautiously he slid the chain under it and tied the amulet around it. Then he took a pair of pincers and clipped it so the elf wouldn't be able to remove it so easily in case he found it. So far, so good. He crawled along the wooden wall to his left back to the entrance corridor, carefully avoiding any creaking plans he knew about. He walked down the stairs quietly, double checked the entrance room to make sure the way was clear and left the house the same way he had come before. He took a deep breath once outside, mentally preparing for the next stage. This mission was far from over and the most dangerous and thrilling part was yet to come.

* * *

There were two bulkheads separating the main Riften canal from Lake Honrich. Aislinn and Brynjolf had chosen the southern one which was closer to both the entrance to the Ratway and the cemetery through which they could get directly to the Ragged Flagon. It was dark and they could hardly see what was in front of them. Considering their enemies had the same kind of disadvantage, it wasn't that bad. Unlike them, the two thieves would probably be able to walk the area blindfolded and still locate every single rock there was. The night's darkness covering their figures, they crept silently from one birch trunk to another until they reached a group of rocks that lay nearby the south city gate. A few Thalmor guards, as well as two Imperial ones, were marching slowly in front of the gate back and forth again. None of them paid any attention to the lake. The two intruders passed the rocks and pressed themselves against the city walls behind them. The lake was shallow here, allowing them to safely cross it without having to swim. They lurked along the wall to their right, underneath the entrance to the sewers which, as they both knew, lead to a dead end, and then around a corner to their right. There was a house on their left, leading to a bridge that connected it with a wharf on the opposite side. A few hooded figures were walking there, occasionally stopping to look around.

Aislinn and Brynjolf directed their attention to the bulkhead on their right. The current was strong here, driving the water right into the massive wooden gates and creating whirlpools as it clashed with them. Aislinn went ahead, Brynjolf guarding her back. She swam a short distance until the current took over and quickly carried her to the gates. She leaned against them, quickly drawing a dagger and jabbing it deep into the wood right above her. It took her some effort to pull herself up and grab the edge of the left gate. Leaving the dagger where it was, she waved at Brynjolf and leaped into the canal on the other side. Brynjolf followed her swiftly and took her dagger with him before joining her. They found themselves facing the wharfs leading along the Riften canal. On their left there was the entrance to the Ratway. They quickly climbed up to it when Aislinn noticed a hooded figure approaching them. Taking her dagger from Brynjolf, she danced around the newcomer in absolute silence, unnoticed. Before he could take another step, she grabbed his head and slit his throat. They hid the Thalmor's body in one of the barrels nearby and dumped it in the water. Soon, the current took it and wedged it between two wooden pillars supporting the wharf the two of them were currently standing on. They turned around and disappeared behind the door to the Ratway.

Adjusting their eyes to the almost impenetrable darkness inside, they continued through the narrow corridors, across the wooden drawbridge and then down the way to the Ragged Flagon.

"That was pretty merciless," Brynjolf commented on their way.

"He was a Thalmor and stood in our way," Aislinn opposed. "I don't have time to query them in case some of them are good boys. And he would have done the same to you had he the chance."

"I guess the Dark Brotherhood must be pretty fond of you, huh?"

"I do what I must," she replied simply.

Then, silence took over them. They didn't speak for a while, feeling each other's uneasiness as they realized it was too dark and too quiet. The usual bandits and rogues were gone, the way seemingly safe. They entered the Ragged Flagon only to find it quiet, deserted.

"Damn, what happened here?" Brynjolf asked, clenching his fists.

"It doesn't look like there was a fight, though," Aislinn stated as she examined the place. She lit a candle resting on the counter and carefully walked around the whole place. Most of the things, including the trophies, were gone, the nooks around the round pool in the center, where the merchants and agents used to sit, dark and abandoned.

They entered the Cistern and found it just as deserted.

"Do you think the treasury's safe?" Aislinn asked, her tone more curious than worried.

"We can find out. You took your key with you in Markarth, right?"

"I'm not that stupid," she said half jokingly and pulled a large copper key out of her backpack. Brynjolf took his and they opened the door together.

The dim light of the candle Aislinn was still holding fell on a number of objects. There were chests, sacks with money or supplies, trophies, armors, weapons and just about anything the two of them could ever imagine, all intact.

"So, whoever could have gotten here, they didn't manage to open the treasury, at least," Aislinn smiled. "Hm, we're quite rich, don't you think?"

"I believe you took care of that," Brynjolf chuckled.

"Then I'm taking my share." She pointed at a figurine wearing a set of daedric armor and then to several weapon stands on her left holding all kinds of weapons. She chose two one-handed swords, a daedric one and an ebony one, and then added an ebony bow with all the arrows she could find, leaving her dwarven equipment in their place.

"Somebody's not cheap," Brynjolf whistled. "As if you were trying to save the world!"

"Me? Saving the world? Nah!" the reply was dry like the sands of Hammerfell's deserts.

Brynjolf took a few spare daggers, an ebony bow and an ebony sword, carefully studying their state. When he hadn't found any dents or faults, he switched them with his Dwemer bow and sword.

"What was the point of taking these things down in Nchuand-Zel anyway?" Aislinn wondered.

"The point was to soothe Nocturnal before she rids you of all the luck she's granted to you," Brynjolf answered with a shrug. "You already try her patience every time you get the chance."

Aislinn glared at him without another word.

They were about to lock the treasury door again when she noticed a piece of paper jammed right under it. She slid the door aside a little and took it. There was a symbol, a circle with the moon embraced by the wings of a nightingale inside. Below it was just one word. "Safe".

"I think I know where they are," Brynjolf whispered as he looked over her shoulder. Aislinn nodded.

"So," she took a deep breath, "the Ratway or the cemetery?"

"I'd say the cemetery. If that stinking Altmer is found, they're sure to enter the Ratway."

"And to alert the whole city in no time. I say we just get out of here as soon as possible."

A silent nod from Brynjolf's side set them into motion. They climbed the cheap-looking wooden ladder leading out of the Cistern and pushed the button to move the sarcophagus above them. The darkness of the night was slowly making way to the morning light which shone dimly through the Riften mist. The cemetery was empty save for a few skeevers, busy with digging up a hole right next to the destroyed shrine of Talos.

The two of them moved sneakily past the shrine, turned right and headed toward the wharfs. Passing the Mistveil Keep on their left would be a challenge but Aislinn froze before they even tried. She noticed a familiar figure approaching from the city market.

"Brynjolf," she addressed her companion quietly. "Do I really see Samuel or are my eyes deceiving me?"

"It's him," he agreed. "What in Oblivion is he so happy about?"

They watched him curiously as he danced across the wooden bridge leading to the Keep. She noticed a trace of cautiousness in his eyes, something that no-one would expect from a child like him. If they didn't know he worked for the Guild. He must be on a mission. Shock displayed in Aislinn's face when he reached the stairs to the Keep and grabbed the cloak of the Thalmor in front of him. There were city guards standing around along with the Thalmor guards, as well as a number of regular citizens who all watched the boy in surprise. _Just what is he planning?_

"Mister elf, mister elf!" Samuel shouted merrily as the Altmer turned around, his gold-copper-colored hair waving around him.

"What is it?" he asked coldly.

"I brought you a present!" A wide smile on his face, Samuel pulled a ring out of his pocket and handed it to the elf. Aislinn knew the ring quite well. It looked unusual and the bright blue jewel that was decorating it served as a lid. Anything could be put in there but Aislinn knew this ring was a fake copy of one that had been lost for centuries and it was absolutely worthless. She had brought it to the Guild herself.

"Oh..." the elf seemed taken aback by the sudden patronage. "Thank you. What is this?"

"Well, it used to be my mother's... oh!" Samuel's eyes widened in surprise. "That amulet of yours! I didn't know you worshipped Talos! So is he now an official god?"

The elf gasped and so did Aislinn. Suddenly, everyone's eyes were on him, some curious, some angry.

"Traitor! How dare you!" one of the present Thalmor yelled, pointing a finger at him in a threatening gesture.

"Now you're trying to cover up your true nature, huh? That's a bunch of crap!" a voice from the crowd shouted.

"Yeah, don't try to deny it! You just want to control us! Give our freedom back!"

"Silence!" another Thalmor guard yelled. "You keep quiet or you're all going to the pillory!"

"Yeah? And who's going to throw rotten eggs at us when no-one's left, huh?"

"Stop the nonsense and seize the heretic!" yet another Altmer shouted.

More and more people kept joining on both sides. Samuel made a frightened face and tottered back to the bridge. The quarrel soon broke out into an open fight, the citizens gaining arms and support from the ones who quickly marched from the marketplace. The regular city guards realized their chance and attacked the Thalmor from behind. Aislinn noticed the accused elf searching frantically through the crowd. He located the boy who had framed him, took his bow and readied an arrow in it. Aislinn froze.

Without a second thought, she drew her own bow and took an arrow out of her quiver.

"Lass, you can't," she heard Brynjolf pleading. "You'll get yourself killed, stop it!"

Too late. The arrow made its way to the Altmer's temple, making him fall down from the stairs. The few people who noticed it turned in the direction where it came from.

"The Dragonborn!" yelled one of the Thalmor guards immediately. "After her!"

Aislinn quickly put the bow over her back and drew her swords. Behind her, she heard Brynjolf unsheathe his own.

"So she's alive!" someone in the crowd screamed. "You liars! You traitors!"

More people joining. The fight turned into an absolute chaos, arrows firing from both sides and buzzing in the air, weapons clashing, occasional sparks flying from their blades. Someone threw a fireball into the crowd. It damaged both sides equally. There were people getting caught in the middle of the fight without having a way to protect themselves. Their blood was soon imbuing the cobblestones under them.

 _"Fus Ro Dah!"_ Aislinn Shouted, trying to hit as many elves as possible while avoiding any possible allies. She didn't waste any time waiting and raised her swords to fight an Altmer who attacked her from her right. He seemed more skilled than the others, holding two enchanted daggers and dancing around her. She had an advantage. She knew he wouldn't kill her but she would kill him. Swiftly and aggressively she blocked one of his daggers before it reached her right hip. Kicking the elf in his left knee, she used the other sword to stab him in his stomach and pull it back again, creating a distance between them. He fell to his knees and suddenly reached into his pocket. His hand pulled out a white stone which seemed almost transparent. He threw it on the ground, a crack appeared on it and white mist spread around it.

"No!" Brynjolf shrieked. "Lass, get out of here! Now!"

 _"Lok Vah Koor!"_ she Shouted, expecting the mist to give way. It didn't.

She ran for it, making her way through the crowd. There weren't many Thalmor left and the ones who tried to attack her were quickly pushed back by the enraged locals. They made a wall around her, guarding her with their bodies. She felt a sudden wave of gratitude take over her. The mist was spreading quickly, reaching her once again. She felt dizzy, desperately trying to get to a safer place. Then she felt someone put their arms around her shoulders and lift her gently. She was carried to the marketplace and seated on a wooden crate resting by the stone wall which separated the area with the stands from the wooden pavement around it.

"Brynjolf," she whispered, raising her face with difficulty. He was there, watching her with a mixture of fear, concern, anxiety and rage in his face. She had never seen him like this. He seemed about to explode but also shrinking every moment. Helpless, desperate, shaken. She knew at once she had made him reach his limit. It suddenly scared her. Weak as she felt, she still found some strength to reach out her arms and embrace him tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Brynjolf," she whispered. "I'm so sorry." Then her grip loosened and her arms slumped to her sides.

Suddenly, she heard a number of voices cry around her.

"All hail the Dragonborn, our savior!"

"For free Skyrim!"

"For the Empire!"

Then an enraged voice opposed.

"You filthy Imperials now think you did something noble! It was the Stormcloaks all along who wanted to drive the intruders out of our land! You did nothing for Skyrim! Just plundered our keeps, deprived us of our freedom and signed a worthless treaty! You'd be nothing if not for the Dragonborn!"

"You couldn't do a thing yourselves!" another voice opposed. "Useless Stormcloak scum who just conquer the land and claim the throne as if it was given! Your beloved Ulfric only thought of himself!"

Shakily, Aislinn stood up. Brynjolf stared at her in disbelief as she took a deep breath.

"Enough!" she exclaimed, almost making it sound like a Shout. Suddenly, everyone fell still and silent.

"You utterly blind pieces of idiotic skeever skulls!" she continued, her voice rock solid. "Can't you overcome your hatred and end these meaningless quarrels of yours? Don't you see your freedom being taken from you? Are some petty disputes from the old times worth your homes and families? Are you going to let the Thalmor take everything from you?!"

There was a silence. Then, a single voice whispered.

"Of course we don't want to let the Thalmor take over."

"Drive out the Thalmor!" another voice joined him.

"Then forget old rivalries and unite!" Aislinn called to them. "Defeat them together, hand in hand! Don't let the damned intruders have their way! Don't let them break you apart!"

"The Dragonborn is right! We should unite and drive the enemies away from our land!"

"All hail the Dragonborn, the savior of Skyrim!"

"All hail the Dragonborn, the High Queen of Skyrim!" the crowd started cheering.

Aislinn's face went pale. This was not supposed to happen. It was wrong! She wasn't meant to be the High Queen. And above all, she wasn't the High Queen!

She waved her hand and the crowd went silent.

"I am not the High Queen," she stated, her voice a mere whisper but loud enough to reach everybody's ears. "I am but a loyal servant of Skyrim and her people. I will not betray you and I will not fail. Let us drive out the Thalmor and make our land free at last!"

She couldn't believe her own words. As if someone else put them in her mouth and made her release them. Strangely enough, she felt determined to fulfill the promise she had just given to the people of Skyrim. She did want to help them, even if it meant making her life even more difficult and full of struggles.

She gave a quick look to Brynjolf. He stood there like a statue, his expression no more readable than a withered page with Falmer script writings in it.

 _He is going to kill me,_ she thought to herself. _And so Skyrim will lose her savior once again._

* * *

 _I decided to rewrite the first four chapters when I have the time to make them more readable for possible new readers. Their content will not change and most of the dialogues won't either, just the way it's written will change a bit and I might add some descriptions to make the text richer. The dialogue that definitely will change is one that made Brynjolf completely fall out of his character. I'd slap myself for it._

 _On another note, here's a related story for you. My boyfriend suspects that I only write this fic because I like Brynjolf and my character couldn't marry him in the game. Well, he's right. Exposed. Oh darn._


	11. The Dreams and the Plans

**Chapter 11: The Dreams and the Plans**

Chains were binding Lucia down to the cold stone floor, holding her limbs tightly around her wrists and ankles. Around her was an impenetrable haze of grey color, preventing her from seeing her surroundings. She blinked but it did not help. There was nothing, just terrifying quiet. She could move slightly, only to remind herself of the fact that she was chained down. The metal bracelets connected to the chains hurt her and cut into her flesh. She was alone, no jailer had ever come to her. She had no recollection of how or why she got here, nobody had told her what was going to happen to her. She could hear her own heart beating, the only sound present. It sounded like battle drums.

Suddenly she noticed a presence. It was behind her at it was getting closer. A great dark presence which was threatening to swallow her along with the grey haze and the floor underneath her feet. No, it wasn't a presence. It was something that denied all existence. An anti-presence. A nothing. The Void.

For a moment she thought she saw it. It had the shape of a fragile human. But then she was sure she had been mistaken. It was a giant black dragon, the biggest she'd ever seen. But maybe not even that. It didn't have a shape. It didn't have a body. It didn't exist. And yet it existed.

The Void was getting closer and closer. She knew she had to escape but the chains holding her down were uncompromising. She shook her hands and feet violently. It hurt. The metal bit her, engraved a burning scar in her pale skin. Her flesh was on fire and she gasped. Everything around her was trying to make her give up on life. She clung to it making it the last certainty in this world. She was alive. She wanted to live!

The Void licked her toes. She could feel them crumbling apart.

 _No! I want to live! Please!_

Her whole body was turning into grey dust, slowly fading into nothingness. The roaring non-existent presence which was neither human nor dragon was devouring her, making her mind go blank.

 _I don't want this... somebody... help me... please..._

The vision blurred before her eyes, replacing the image of her small grey world with a different one.

This time, she was standing on a terrace on one side of a giant volcano. She felt hot, streams of sweat running down her whole body. Around her was Oblivion. Burning rivers of magma floated down the mountain sides, joining in a huge lake deep down below the terrace Lucia was standing on. The whole place was covered in crimson vapors making it difficult to breathe. Her body was stinging, burned by the hot sparks that were flying about endlessly. There was no sky above her and no real land below her, just the volcano, an infinite number of lava rivers and lakes, the hot crimson vapors and a thick smokescreen spreading from the volcano's throat.

A huge flush of magma suddenly came from the crater above, threatening to flood the terrace. It seemed as if it was almost alive, watching her, studying her before it flowed over the edge of the crater. There was a presence inside it. The same ethereal presence she had noticed in the vision before. A fiery dragon appeared before Lucia's eyes and then disappeared as quickly as it materialized.

There was nowhere to run. The terrace was short and narrow, barely allowing her to run a few yards. She looked around frantically. She felt more miserable than before, being unable to escape despite not being chained down. She wanted to have wings to fly away. She remembered the feeling of soaring up to the skies, the feeling of absolute freedom. It threw her into an even greater despair.

The dark red wave was coming closer. She looked around one last time before cuddling up on the ground, hugging her knees. She closed her eyes in horror, awaiting the Void to burn her to nothingness along with the rest of this cursed place. Then, her vision blurred and disappeared.

Lucia opened her eyes and gasped. She was shaking heavily, beads of sweat channeling down her face and body. A mass of emotions swirled around in her head and she could suddenly feel tears welling up in her eyes.

"Why are you doing this to me?!" she yelled. "I hate you so much!"

"Quiet!" a voice from the corridor outside ordered her firmly. "You'd do well to remember your place. You're having a pretty good life over there, don't make me ruin it for you!"

 _"You ran away again, my child,"_ he spoke to her softly, his gentle voice ringing in her mind. _"You have to learn to use just what you have. You are human and as a human you strive for your life. You have to understand the difference, find your own strength."_

 _"I had nothing to use!"_ she shouted in her thoughts. _"Are you enjoying this?! Do you have fun tormenting me like this?!"_

 _"No Dragonborn would enjoy witnessing a reminder of who they really are,"_ he said with a portion of melancholy in his voice. _"I turned into someone I was not in order to save the world I cared for so much. I did indeed overcome my boundaries but I forgot who I was and paid the ultimate price. But the world is still not safe... and it will never be safe without its true guardian. The Awakened, the one Dragonborn who has mastered herself."_

"Why do you always talk in riddles?" she asked him, a mixture of confusion and despair flashing through her mind which has become their means of communication.

 _"I am sorry, my child. Too long have I been watching this world wither, too long have I overlooked it silently without making contact. Time changes the soul and shapes its voice. Do ask, my child, and I will try to clarify. Do ask again if the word is still unclear and I will try to bend it for you."_

Lucia rolled her eyes at his speech but decided to do it his way.

 _"So..."_ she hesitated, thinking about what she wanted to know. Then, she decided to take things from the beginning. "Who are you exactly? Tell me anything and everything."

She could feel a chuckle inside her mind.

 _"This will be a long story,"_ he warned her. _"You better sit back and relax, my child."_

"And could you maybe call me Lucia? I am... not your child, you know."

 _"The priests of Akatosh consider everyone their children,"_ he said softly, _"but I will heed your request. You can address me as brother Martin. Or just Martin."_

* * *

It was around noon when the three of them left Riften through the south gate. Aislinn was avoiding eye contact with Brynjolf, quietly marching beside him. She had tried to let him get ahead and walk behind him but he seemed determined not to let her. Next to her, Samuel was hopping merrily, being the only one seemingly unaffected by the recent events. Aislinn felt exhausted and dizzy, fighting her condition with pure will as she didn't want to show Brynjolf the slightest sign of her weakness. She almost tripped several times but always managed to hide it somehow. The thief seemed to be lost in thought, a mental barrier put up around him, but she knew he was watching her constantly.

"Riften is finally ours again," Samuel said happily, interrupting the chain of Aislinn's thoughts.

"Thanks to you," Aislinn smiled and thanked the boy in her thoughts for the sudden distraction. "You've proven yourself to be not only a capable thief but also a hero with guts. But next time, run away the moment a fight seems about to start. You almost got yourself killed there."

"Sorry," he mumbled. "I put you in danger as well."

He noticed Brynjolf suddenly give him a furious look.

 _All right, I'm dead,_ he thought to himself. _This guy hates me. And he probably has a good reason to..._

They turned left and continued to walk a narrow path leading slightly uphill. Birch trees grew along it, their line ending with a bare trunk which had probably been struck by a lightning. Behind it were two large rocks creating a narrow passage leading to a cave. A symbol of a nightingale embracing the moon with its wings in a circle decorated the stone raised by its entrance. They entered the cave and heard a number of voices coming from deeper inside.

"I tell you he's not going to make it, Delvin," a razor-sharp female voice said with an undertone of skepticism. "This is all madness. The Guild can't perform with the Thalmor running the whole place. And they're no fun. Most of the ones who get caught just disappear. They don't even get killed or anything. They don't take them into the local prisons either. It's like they just stop existing entirely."

"Yeah, it's no fun anymore," a deep silent voice sighed. "And there's no point in gathering loot if we can't sell it afterwards."

"If this goes on, we're gonna have to turn into a guild of warriors. This is just stupid, we're not in Cyrodiil. One would say Skyrim citizens would be more capable of taking care of themselves..."

"We shouldn't really judge that, our guild was in ruins until our boss came and put it back on its feet again."

"Yeah, everyone is pretty much relying on her. She sure doesn't have it easy."

"I wonder where she is now though. They say she's dead. You don't believe it, do you?"

"That would mean Brynjolf also..."

The voices felt silent as the three newcomers entered a larger cave room with a small waterfall on their left descending into a creek dividing the room into halves. Across the wooden bridge spanning over it was a wide area with some tables and chairs enclosed with a low stone wall. This was the Nightingale Hall, the headquarters of the three leaders of the Thieves Guild and currently the new home of the whole guild, its members occupying most of the chairs at the moment.

"Boss!" several voices shouted at once. "You're okay!"

Aislinn smiled a little. "Yeah, I'm okay. Don't you guys underestimate me."

"Wow, that must be some story you're going to tell us," Delvin Mallory chuckled. Aislinn looked up to find him sitting in a chair closest to the creek. "And I see both of you have changed your outfits. Where's that old crappy piece of ragged leather you used to wear so proudly, Brynjolf? I thought you were not parting with it."

"Stuff happened," Brynjolf murmured.

Delvin raised a brow. "You in a bad mood? That's pretty rare."

"Hey, you made it here safely through a country full of crazy Altmer," said beautiful Vex who was standing right behind Delvin. "Given the current situation, you could be pretty happy about it. And proud."

"Except the definition of 'safely' doesn't really apply here, seriously," Brynjolf snorted as he walked across the bridge, Samuel and Aislinn following him. "And guess what? We're going to unite Skyrim, yay!"

"So that means our young man here succeeded?" Delvin turned his attention to Samuel.

"He did a perfect job," Aislinn praised him. Brynjolf smirked.

"Lady Aislinn helped me a huge lot," Samuel opposed, his lips curled in an innocent smile.

"Yeah, you almost got her killed in the process," Brynjolf hissed.

"Just what in Oblivion happened there?" Vex asked curiously. "You sound like it's the end of the world. Sure doesn't sound like that to me, though. So, is Riften ours again?"

"It's ours," Brynjolf said dryly. "And the damned fools want to make the lass their leader and march on Windhelm."

"Is that bad?" a quiet, stoic voice joined the conversation. A figure of a smaller but elegant dark elf woman with long rusty-brown hair in a lighter version of the Thieves Guild armor walked into the light, her bright violet eyes studying her surroundings. "Given the skills of our boss, it could work to our advantage if she actually became the leader of Skyrim people. Imagine our influence then."

Brynjolf looked as if someone had slapped him in the face.

"You serious now?! Karliah, this lass is doing all the things possible to get herself killed in the process! Walking blindfolded without any protection into the most protected city of Skyrim and having to fight her way through it! Entrusting herself to an Altmer woman who then betrays her and kills one of her most trusted allies! Firing an arrow at an Altmer in broad daylight in a place full of people!"

"That man was trying to kill Samuel!" Aislinn objected fiercely. "And Endon trusted that Altmer. How could I have known..."

"Endon is probably dead by now," Brynjolf grunted.

"Wait, stop right there," Delvin interrupted them calmly. "Endon is dead? An Altmer actually going as far as gaining your trust and then betraying you? What in Oblivion happened?"

"Apparently she set it up so I get the claw and seek her out," Aislinn responded. "I have no idea what she's after but I was instructed to find an Elder Scroll that would get me to the place where I could use the claw."

A few members exchanged meaningful looks when the words "Elder Scroll" were mentioned.

"So she was the client Endon was talking about," Vex concluded.

"Why would she do that?" Delvin asked. "You said something about having one of your allies killed?"

Aislinn closed her eyes. She could still hear Paarthurnax's last words echoing in her mind. She sat down on one of the chairs, took a deep breath and started explaining. When she finished, everyone's eyes were on her, staring in shock and disbelief.

"So she told you to defeat Alduin. Again," Delvin chewed slowly. "Do you actually believe the World-Eater is coming back?"

"I do," Aislinn said without hesitation. "If he wasn't, Paarthurnax and Odahviing would have told me about it."

"So why did she have that dragon killed?"

"The Greybeards suspect she's afraid that he would have taught me something important. Probably some powerful technique I could use against her... or something of the sort."

"You said that the Altmer who'd killed the dragon could use the Thu'um, right? And some powerful magic. This may sound a bit crazy but... could he be a Dragon Priest by any chance?"

Aislinn's eyes widened. "A Dragon Priest? But the Dragon Cult is..."

"You never know," Delvin said mysteriously. "Strange things are happening. The big bad dragon rising from the dead, the Thalmor ignoring the Concordat... I wouldn't be surprised if there were some new members of the Dragon Cult. The dragons weren't here for centuries so if there actually were some worshippers left or born, now would be their chance to rise again."

"Makes sense," Aislinn nodded. "But why would they send me to retrieve the Scroll then?"

"Maybe because there's some kind of power they want but only the Dragonborn can access it," Delvin whispered.

"That's all nice," Vex said bitingly, "but it doesn't really concern us. We're the Thieves Guild. What can we possibly do?"

"It's our boss's business and it started with the Guild getting involved," Delvin opposed. "I say it's our business now. Even though I don't like the idea of marching up on a dragon. I'm an information dealer, not a fighter."

"Information dealer," said Aislinn quietly, half lost in thought. "Delvin, could you maybe get some agents to scout the land? The roaming Khajiits would be the best choice, I think. They should be unaffected by the new development and capable of getting all sorts of information. I'm looking for anything and everything concerning the Thalmor, Alduin and the potential Dragon Priests. Oh, and one personal matter... I'm looking for a young girl the Thalmor took away. Thirteen years old, Imperial, taller face, a little rough expression, light brown hair ending above her shoulders, dark brown eyes. She usually gives off the feeling that she's a lot older than she really is. Her name is Lucia."

"I'll do what I can," he winked at her in reply. "I hope the prize's gonna be worth it."

"Does saving the world sound okay to you?" she asked with a smile.

"Saving the world doesn't get you gold in your pockets," he replied with a chuckle. She laughed.

"Maybe we could find out who the Hunter is as well," Samuel posed.

"The Hunter?" Vex asked curiously.

"I didn't really get to tell you," Samuel smiled sheepishly. "Last night I heard the Altmer talk about it. The Hunter is what they call the person who's been taking our agents away recently. And apparently he, or she, is hunting strong people."

"What's going on?" Brynjolf asked before Aislinn could open her mouth to ask the same question.

"People have been disappearing," Vex explained. "You might have heard us talking about it a while ago. The thieves who got caught, the worshippers of Talos, pretty much anyone the Thalmor found an obstacle. Well, some of them got killed, the others disappeared without a trace. The local jails are dead empty, not even guards go there anymore."

"So, according to you," Delvin turned to Samuel, "this Hunter is going after strong people? So the ones who get killed are the _weak ones_? What does that even mean?"

"I dunno," Samuel shook his head. "Apparently the Thalmor don't know themselves. Or at least most of them don't know. They were told to leave their victims alive so the Hunter could decide who was _worthy._ They've been taking them to someone called Elenwen... but most of them don't even know what she uses them for."

"Great," Vex snorted. "Every time we get an answer, more questions arise."

"We'll figure it out," Aislinn said in a calming tone. "Delvin, get those agents moving. I'll go to Windhelm along with the invaders and wait for the news. I'll need someone to come with me, though."

"Guess there's no way to stop you," Brynjolf sighed. "I'm coming with you. You won't shake me off that easily, you know." He earned a few raised brows from his guildmates.

"I'm coming too," Karliah joined. "I think you can use a good marksman on your journey. And it's been a while since the Nightingales went on a mission together." She winked at Aislinn and Brynjolf.

"Still," Brynjolf said with a portion of concern in his voice, "we'll have to do something about that weird mist that always gets to our lass."

"The rotstone," Samuel reacted promptly, getting everyone's attention again. "I heard the elves talking about it as well."

"Any idea what that thing is?"

"Some kind of weapon against the Dragonborn..."

"We know _that_ ," Brynjolf interrupted him impatiently. "But do you know what it _is_? Any way to stop it from working? Or any way to make her immune to it?"

The boy shook his head. Brynjolf sighed.

"I'll look into it as well," Delvin said reassuringly. "You'll have to keep her out of the fights for the time being though."

Brynjolf laughed helplessly. "That's like telling me to stop the water from being wet. You try it."

Delvin chuckled. "You better stay safe, boss. For your own sake and for the sake of us all."

Aislinn smiled shyly and got up from her chair. Suddenly, the world around her went spinning and she could feel a pair of arms catch her as she was falling.

"And that's exactly what I'm talking about," she heard Brynjolf's voice right above her head.

"I thought she said she was fine," Vex pointed sharply.

"How could she? That... rotstone got to her a while ago. The last time it happened, she was unconscious for hours, maybe days. It's a miracle she made it here."

She could feel him lift her up and carry her to a remote room accessed from a corridor which opened next to the waterfall.

"I'm sorry, Brynjolf," she apologized again.

"Shut up, already," he said with a sigh. "Try to get some sleep before we leave. Nocturnal knows you'll need it."

He didn't have to tell her twice. The moment her head touched the straw pillow lying on the bed, her mind went blank and she fell into a deep slumber.

Brynjolf watched her for a while, his hand touching a loose strand of her hair softly, before returning to the main hall.

"So, Brynjolf," Karliah approached him with an amused expression. "When are you going to ask her out?"

He could feel everyone's eyes on him. Apparently he was the source of all the fun at the moment and he didn't find it entertaining at all. He knit his eyebrows.

"What in Oblivion are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on now," Vex drawled with a sly smile. "Surely you don't expect us to think nothing happened between you two?"

"Nothing happened," he said with an unreadable expression.

A roar of laughter echoed through the room. A tall man who looked almost like Brynjolf's twin brother put his arm around his shoulders, shaking his head.

"Brynjolf, my boy," he said in a captivating voice. "You don't understand women, do you? She's not going to take the first step, it's all up to you. She may seem strong but she wants to be protected."

 _Of course she wants to be protected,_ Brynjolf grunted in his thoughts. _And I do want to protect her..._

"Bug off, Vipir," he snapped. "You don't know a thing."

"Now now," Karliah said with a gentle smile. Maybe too gentle for Brynjolf's taste. "Just what are you afraid of, Brynjolf?"

A good question. What was he afraid of? Being refused? No, that wasn't it. A torrent of memories flooded his mind. The lass with a gilded blade pressed to her neck. The trembling sensation he had felt as he held her hand when she had been roaming the world of absolute darkness. Her body giving way when a mass of boulders was about to pour down on it. The hot tears streaming down her cheeks and leaving traces that quickly froze in the ice-cold wind. The lone figure standing above the crowd, the voice calling to arms.

He took a deep breath and looked at all the faces currently staring at him.

"I... I'm scared that I won't be able to protect her," he sighed with a resigned look in his face. "I'm scared she'll die on me the moment I call her mine... or that I'll just lose her to the throne of the High Kings."

"The throne... what?"

"People already see her as the High Queen. And with the way it's heading now, I don't see how she does not become one."

Delvin laughed. "She won't become the High Queen, Brynjolf."

"How can you be so sure?" Brynjolf asked doubtfully.

"Look at her. She loves doing as she pleases. Sometimes it gets rough or scary, she loves excitement and attention unlike any other thief you've met so far and she is a good leader... but she values her freedom more than anything and I don't see how she would sacrifice it. Go get her. Trust her a little."

Brynjolf stared at him for a moment before letting out a loud laugh. Suddenly a huge weight seemed to be lifted off his shoulders.

"Delvin, my friend," he said a little shakily, "I think we should have a pint together."

"Your treat," Delvin chuckled.

"Riften is ours again!" a shout echoed through the room and people suddenly started bringing bottles on the tables.

Brynjolf smiled. For a moment, he could enjoy the mead and the company of his good friends, just like in the old times. He knew this comfort wouldn't last long, that he would soon be on his way to Windhelm, once again trying to protect that fragile little girl with the voice of a thunder and arms of a giant. But that could wait. For now, all was well and that was the only thing that mattered for him.

* * *

 _A lot of talking and not so much action in this chapter. I hope you don't get mad at me for it. :D It was necessary though. Don't worry, it'll get darker soon enough. Much darker._

 _I was thinking that maybe I could write a League of Legends fic featuring Riven and Yasuo when I finish this. Seeing the length of the synopsis I made to make it easier to put the story in order, I think it's going to take me a long time. :D_

 _Thanks a lot for your likes, reviews and follows. Stay tuned. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	12. On the Precipice of War

**Chapter 12: On the Precipice of War**

 _Dovakhiin,_ a deep voice in her head called to her. _You don't have to fight this weakness. Your power can be limitless... if you are willing to unleash it. You have it in you... it is there. Seek us... call to us._

 _"No..."_ she responded reluctantly. She could feel the whirlwind in her mind again, causing her head to throb violently. Endless rage threatened to take over her, causing her blood boil and her whole body to burn. She wanted to destroy, to show the whole world what she was capable of. The fires of Oblivion did not present a challenge for her. But somehow it wasn't right...

 _Seize the world, Dovakhiin. It will bow to you. They will follow you... and the ones who don't you can break. You are a ruler, Dovakhiin. You were not meant to be some petty mortal with a miserable life. Make the world eternal. Make it yours._

 _"Go away..."_

 _Why are you scared of the elves, Dovakhiin? They have no power over you. Go. Soar. Spare no-one. Your Thu'um is so much stronger than you think..._

 _"You got it all wrong."_

 _Do we now?_ the voice struck her with an intimidating force. _They will betray you again. You shouldn't trust people... especially not the thief you're traveling with. He will try to use you... control you._

 _"Brynjolf? No, he..."_

 _Get rid of him while you can, Dovakhiin. Use him... or kill him..._

"NO!" she screamed aloud as she opened her eyes. She sat up, panting heavily, and noticed several people come running into her room, their eyes wide with shock.

"Boss, what happened?!" someone shouted.

She stared at them in confusion, not able to tell who is who in the dim light that was coming from the corridor.

"Sorry to frighten you," she said weakly. "It was just a bad dream." She stood up and stretched her arms.

"You sure you wanna get up already, boss? You didn't look so well..."

"How long have I been out?"

"A couple of hours, I s'pose. A while, but not so long."

"I'm thirsty..."

Some of the thieves in her room exchanged looks.

"So," she heard a silent voice whisper in her ear and recognized Thrynn, the former bandit, "what do you prefer, boss? Black-Briar Reserve? Some quality sujamma? Or maybe something hotter? How about a bit of our last shipment of scooma? Damn good stuff, I tell you."

"Water, maybe?" she asked, her voice ice-cold, and grabbed his collar so his face was now just a few inches from hers. "Listen now, and listen well. It's fine if you drink from time to time but don't you get me started on skooma. That stuff makes you lose your mind completely. One drop is enough to ruin your life. You better remember it before someone cuts your throat in your delirium."

"O... okay," he replied in a trembling voice. "It was just a joke anyway."

"A bad joke," she grumbled and left the room.

An unbelievable sight opened up before her when she entered the main hall. A number of chairs were lying about, two of which were broken. A table had been knocked upside down. Around it, several bottles lay in pieces, the broken glass reflecting the shimmering light from a nearby candle. And right next to the short wall separating the area with tables from the rest of the room, Brynjolf and Delvin Mallory were sitting on their chairs, their heads resting face down on a table covered with bottles and glasses. She shook her head in disbelief and walked down to take a better look at them. She could hear a chuckle from behind.

"They had a drinking contest," Vex explained. It was the first time Aislinn saw her amused.

"Who won?" Aislinn asked with a curious smile.

"They stopped counting after the fifth bottle."

Aislinn looked at Brynjolf and turned his head so she could see his face.

 _He looks almost cu..._ she cut the thought before she could finish it and shook her head. Then she lifted him as if he was a wooden doll and carried him to the same bed she had been sleeping in a while ago, causing the thieves she passed burst in a roar of laughter.

"I'm going to Riften for a while," she informed the guild members afterwards. "Be back in a few hours I'd say."

"Alone?" Vex asked her, her brows furrowed.

"I'll be fine," Aislinn said persuasively. "It's just around a corner and I'm only going to pay Jarl Maven a visit."

"No way. Darling Brynjolf would kill me if I let you go alone, so you get to pick an escort."

"I'll go with her," Karliah's quiet voice joined the conversation. "I'd appreciate some fresh air anyway."

Aislinn sighed. "I'm telling you I'll be fine. You don't have to babysit me."

"Think of it as two friends having a nice walk together," Karliah winked at her.

Aislinn shook her head and grabbed her weapons, a mug of water and a slice of dark bread on her way to the cave entrance. Karliah followed her and the two of them soon found themselves walking down the path to Riften curbed by birch trees. Golden light was shining through their branches standing in light of the blue sky and the sun which was about to set. A while after they walked through the south gate and turned right, making their way into the Mistveil Keep.

There were a number of people gathered in the main hall, sitting at the long two-annexed table in its lower part. Myriads of candles and lamps, as well as the hearth fire in the center, lit the room brightly, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls and making the trophies and banners covering them even more majestic than usual. Right at the front, facing the entrance door, sat Maven Black-Briar, the Jarl of Riften, her dark hair tied in a set of elegant curly tails. Aislinn stared at her in envy for a moment. Maven Black-Briar was by no means beautiful and she was usually not particular about fashion, but she had that touch of elegance that Aislinn always wanted to have. She was probably powerful enough to get any man on his knees if she wanted to.

 _Well... just one would be enough,_ Aislinn chuckled to herself.

"Ah, so the star has decided to honor us with her presence," Maven commented dryly. "Do sit down, please. We have a lot to talk about."

For a moment, Karliah looked like she was about to give Maven a lesson. Aislinn gave her a warning look but the thief just shrugged and put up an innocent smile. Both of them took a seat on the right side of the table, opposite a well-made Nord legion warrior with wheat-colored hair in a bright steel armor, a huge decorated warhammer resting on his lap. He smiled and winked at Aislinn as she sat down. She suddenly felt the urge to turn away.

"That should be everyone," the Jarl said. "Let us begin. Most of you know I hate these meetings and I definitely hate dealing with dumbheaded fools who can't see further than the length of their own warhammer," she nodded bluntly to the wheat-haired warrior, "so I'd like to make this conversation as short as possible."

"Those dumbheaded fools are the ones who actually saved Riften this time, Maven, my darling," the man addressed returned with a grin. A wave of respect for a man who could stand up to Maven so easily suddenly overran Aislinn.

"You don't give me that, Marcus. I could have your head stuck on a pole with the next round of Black-Briar's finest," she grimaced. "Unfortunately, your strength can be of use now so that will have to wait. You and the Dragonborn are going to lead an invasion on Windhelm. I believe I can trust the Dragonborn to make sure you don't do anything stupid on your way there?" She turned her head to Aislinn.

"Depends what 'stupid' means," she replied with a snort. "Do we know anything about the state of the city?"

"We know that the streets there are narrow and the defenders will definitely have the advantage," Maven explained. "Moreover, you have to cross the river if you want to get close to the city. We are sure to lose men there. I'm not really good with battles so I'll leave the strategy planning to you. I'm quite curious what you're going to come up with since I don't see how you can take a city unless you have a dragon on your side."

"A dragon?" Aislinn chuckled. "I could get you a dragon."

Several pairs of eyes stared at her.

"You could get a dragon on our side?" Marcus drawled doubtfully. "Like... a real dragon? One of the beasts you are actually supposed to kill?"

"It's not that simple," she smiled, but her voice was cold as ice, "but I do indeed have the power to command a dragon. I can either call one that trusts me or make one obey me by force."

"A dragon that _trusts_ you?"

"Let's just say he owes me a favor."

"Okay, so we got a dragon," Maven nodded with an unreadable expression. "I guess I could've expected nothing less of you... even though I do hope you don't decide to take Riften with it and I assure you that would prove very... disadvantageous for you." Aislinn raised a brow at her attitude. "Now back to where we were. I would propose getting some help from Whiterun. Dear Balgruuf is sitting on his sorry buttocks again, refusing to make a move on his own. It's about time we gave him a kick so I made a deal with your... friends," she gave a knowing look to Aislinn, "to send an agent to him. She should be able to persuade him to take action and send some troops to aid you. And one last thing," she turned her head to a door to her right and everybody's eyes followed.

The door opened, revealing a Dunmer man with long white hair dressed in purple robes with silver lining. He looked at the crowd with a pair of deep eyes shining in the color of rich orange. Aislinn noticed that they were literally shining, emitting the light on their own. "This is Marilis. He is a skilled mage capable of enchanting your weapons, protecting you and fighting as well. He also happens to be knowledgeable about the Thalmor and their equipment and strategies so I figured he might prove useful to you. Better there with you than here distracting everyone anyway," Maven snorted.

The Dunmer nodded to everyone and took a seat beside Marcus without speaking a word. The Nord shuddered a little, his back straightening with uneasiness. Aislinn tried to figure out if it was because his new neighbor was a Dunmer, because of his specialization, or his appearance. Or maybe a bit of everything.

"I think that should be all from my part," Maven waved her hand, letting out a tired sigh. "If you'll excuse me, I have a city to run. You do your job and devise a strategy to get the blasted city in our hands. We will talk when you return with the good news. If there is bad news, you don't have to bother returning at all."

Then she stood up and made her way to the throne in the upper part of the main hall.

* * *

Balgruuf the Greater was a man known for his independency. Yes, he had let the Imperial army in his own house and sent his own men to conquer Windhelm. But he would never have done it had he not found it beneficial for his people. Unlike his brother Hrongar, he was prudent, always considering all the possibilities, always balancing the welfare of his people and possible sacrifices. He was the man of wits and reason. Despite being a great warrior, he was never quick to fight, but even for him the Threat of the Thalmor overrunning his city seemed too dangerous to ignore. Whiterun had always stood proudly as the city of freedom and hope where everyone was treated equally. He did not care about the Empire, nor did he consider the Stormcloaks or the Thalmor his business. But if there was something threatening this peaceful place and its people, it had to be eliminated. He would not yield.

He budged up on his throne, his hand rubbing his blonde beard unconsciously as he turned his marble-blue eyes to a Khajiit courier who had just arrived in Dragonsreach and was now standing before him. It was a woman, although Balgruuf couldn't tell how he got to that conclusion seeing only her pointy-eared furry head and her armor. Unlike most of the Khajiit he'd met or heard of, her fur was pitch black, contrasting with her eyes of the same light blue color as the Jarl's. She was tall, slender and elegant, wearing a strange light armor of a dark green color similar to the color of a mountain lake. A black sarong with golden ornaments was tied around her waist, hiding her belt and everything that could have been attached to it. Until this moment, the Jarl would have never thought he would find a Khajiit attractive. This woman, however, was an embodiment of attractiveness.

"Greetings, my Jarl," she bowed elegantly. He voice was melodic and deep and Balgruuf gulped inadvertently the moment it rang in his ears. "My name is Farkhali and I bring you a message from Riften. The Dragonborn has taken over it and the Thalmor were driven out. The city is free again, Jarl Maven Black-Briar fully in control of it, and the people are asking for help in their new quest. It has been decided that the warriors of the Rift conquer Windhelm and free its people from the Thalmor threat."

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Farkhali," Balgruuf nodded in her direction. "I am glad to hear the Dragonborn is safe and Skyrim still has hope. I have indeed heard rumors about the recent events in Riften but you're the first one to confirm them. I would be happy to send my men to their aid. However, organizing an army is not a simple matter. Many people have been gathering in Whiterun and my hold. People seeking refuge and offering services, people who lost their homes to the war. They are indeed a welcome addition to my forces but my land cannot provide them with enough necessities. We are running out of supplies, even without having to fight too much. To provide an entire army with all the equipment and food they need is impossible for me at the moment."

"I believe that can be arranged," she replied, her dispassionate expression even more underlining her attractiveness. "I am a member of the Khajiit caravans that roam Skyrim freely. The Thalmor have been trying to stop us, of course, but since they can never really track our movement and we know the land fairly well, they haven't met with much success. It takes one word and they will provide you with everything you need. Just give us two days, no more."

"How are you going to arrange everything in two days?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh, we have our ways," she smiled mysteriously. "The Khajiit may not seem like much but they have the right to call Skyrim their own in a way."

"So," he said slowly, "what is your claim in this?"

"Claim?" she asked, barely displaying any confusion at all.

"I presume you won't do this for free," he said simply.

"You can discuss our _claim_ with the Dragonborn and the Thieves Guild in Riften."

"The Thieves Guild? What do they have to do with this?"

"Except organizing the whole thing?" she chuckled silently. "Do not underestimate them, my Jarl. They will prove powerful allies for you. But do not worry, I'm sure someone from the Guild will contact you sooner or later."

 _Is she being... arrogant with me?_ Balgruuf thought to himself. He could barely concentrate on their conversation itself, not to mention the tone of her voice. She was somehow driving him mad.

"All right," he chewed slowly. "It sounds odd to accept the Thieves Guild as my allies... but out of respect for the Dragonborn I will work with you. Let us discuss what I need from you."

"I am sure I won't disappoint you, my Jarl," she replied quietly. He could feel shivers run down his spine.

* * *

The ghostly-green eyes were the only part visible of the small body of an Argonian woman crouching on top of Jorrvaskr's roof. She had the means to become almost invisible, her thin armor reflecting the colors and images from its surroundings. It was more like a second skin to her, allowing her nimble body to move swiftly and quietly. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance to Dragonsreach, waiting for the young Khajiit woman to come out. She had been tracking her for a day now, silently praising her for being the only one she found difficult to keep up with so far. This Khajiit had the ability to blend in shadows and disappear from her sight entirely. Given the sharp eyes of the pursuer, that must have been quite some skill.

She crawled a little to her right to avoid being spotted by a guard approaching the hall. She had a feeling he wouldn't have noticed her anyway, especially with that urn-like helmet on, but her cautious disposition didn't allow her to risk a single gaffe.

At last, after an hour or two of waiting, the door to Dragonsreach opened and she spotted her target walk from there. She waited, her eyes following the black-furred Khajiit attentively until she reached the gate leading to the city marketplace. Then she hopped over the walls and the tile roofs of the city houses and silently pursued her target to the city gate. Taking the longer route over the wall, she left the city and continued creeping in her footsteps. The tall Khajiit was at a disadvantage here. The plains around the city of Whiterun didn't allow her to blend in shadows, while the small and slender body of her pursuer could easily hide in the low bushes or just rely on her chameleon-like armor.

They continued to the northwest for what seemed like several hours. The last rays of sunlight had been long gone by the time they crossed the mountainous ridge which separated the Whiterun hold from the treacherous marshes of Hjaalmarch. Then, the Khajiit suddenly stopped at a crossing and waited. The sneaky Argonian crept to a pine tree behind her and watched her silently.

Another hour had passed when a group of four Khajiit approached her. She raised her head and exchanged greetings with them. The Argonian couldn't distinguish their features but she was sure that all the newcomers had lighter fur than the one she had been following. And two of them were male.

"Ri'saad," the dark-furred Khajiit whispered. "Glad to see you doing well even in these times."

"Farkhali," one of the newcomers nodded. "Still as beautiful as ever." An older male, well-built but not so well-trained. His movements were confident, his voice more so. Apparently the leader of the group. A merchant. Probably not just that.

"I have a request from the Jarl of Whiterun," she explained briefly.

"So it has come to this at last? Not just the thieves anymore?"

"You'll get what you want soon enough. But first we have to take care of our uninvited guests."

The merchant nodded. "So, what is it?"

"The list is here," she gave him a tube with a piece of paper rolled up inside. "Two days, Ri'saad. They will meet you at the place where the White River crosses the border of Eastmarch at sunset. I have to go now and head back to Riften. Eyes open, walk with the shadows."

"Be seeing you, Fark. Travel safely."

The dark-furred Khajiit nodded them farewell and turned into a mere shadow, soon invisible to all of them, making it impossible to tell which way she had taken. The Argonian waited a little and then followed the merchant group a mile to the west. A cave entrance appeared before them. By the time they reached it, she pulled a dagger out of her shoe and a small wand out of the other. She waved it, making the caravan members waver in sudden paralysis. They gasped when a wave of pain took over their bodies, Ri'saad being the only one capable of holding up against a series of quick stabs coming from the Argonian when she suddenly attacked with her dagger.

"Not bad," she hissed with a sly grimace, "but not good enough."

She put her wand back in her shoe swiftly and danced around Ri'saad, her body moving so fast that he could not locate it. He tried to resist, raising his steel sword against her, but she avoided it skillfully and made her way behind his back. Then she raised her hand and pressed her fingers against a number of points on his body in a lightning-fast sequence. She watched his body stiffen and fall to the ground.

"So," she smiled cunningly. "Two days, sunset, White River and Eastmarch border crossing. That's good to know."

Despite him not being able to move, she could see the horror spread in Ri'saad's body. She enjoyed the feeling thoroughly.

"Let us go," she said quietly. "Be grateful, my dear Khajiit, for I find you worthy and you will have the honor to serve as our great master's vessel. For now."

With that, she lifted his body as if it was a piece of paper, put it around her shoulders and walked away, a triumphant smile forming on her lips.

* * *

 _It was about time I introduced some new characters in the story. And I think it's nice that I can work with more races now. A friend of mine actually thinks it's pretty racist that she cannot marry a Khajiit in the game. Since I prefer humans myself, I couldn't really tell, but now I think she's got a point. That said, I didn't put Khajiit there in order not to be racist, they just happen to be the dealers and fences in the actual game. As for the Argonian - it worked quite well for me that the Argonians have stealth bonuses in the game. I find them intriguing and cool so I hope you do too. :)_

 _Just to inform you - I changed the first chapters of the story to make them a bit smoother and better readable. Still, the changes are not too radical, most of the text remains untouched and I just added some descriptions and such so you don't have to read them again. Hopefully the potential new readers will appreciate this._

 _And I have another recommendation! I read the first chapter of a story called Twists and Turns written by Parsee. I'm not good at comedy and I admire pretty much anyone who can write the stuff but this is just freaking hilarious and I found myself ROFLing so many times while reading just that one chapter. I'm still waiting for the second one but if it's this good it'll be worth the waiting. Go and try it. :D_

 _Mirwen_


	13. The Revelation

**Chapter 13: The Revelation**

The morning breeze caressed the pitch black mane as the horse standing in front of the ragged stone stall in the Riften stables bobbed his head to welcome his long missed master. Shadowmere's crimson eyes roamed around endlessly, always inspecting every part of his surroundings. He was, for once, the undead horse of the Dark Brotherhood, always wary, cautious of everything that might disturb his more or less peaceful existence, never mind the fact that he served the most dangerous institution one could think of. He was indeed a peaceful being, not eager to start a fight on his own, but any enemy of his current master would be an enemy of his as he was sworn to protect her with his life. He did not mind fighting and there were times he found the bloodshed quite enjoyable but he did not exactly seek it either.

When she came to him, he set his gaze upon her and kept it that way, silently examining her. His eyes followed her short chestnut hair, a little ruffled but nevertheless clean looking, sliding down her long sparse fringe and her shimmering golden eyes, now displaying a number of mixed emotions of an immense depth, insecurity surmounting them all, down the straight nose and the firm lips of a sweet rose color in between her wide jaws which somehow reflected her strong-willed personality. He continued past the shoulders, unusually broad for a woman of her posture, seemingly bent a little by some unknown force, as if she was carrying more than she could take, and her slender body, still in the grey of the dawning day but giving out slight vibes reflecting an inner shiver.

She had changed. He had known it the moment he had caught the first glimpse of her but still took a moment to survey it thoroughly. There had been fear, betrayal, loss... and something was stirring up inside her, depriving her of peace and the ability to rest at ease. He waited. Sooner or later she would tell him everything. She always did for her silent companion was the only one she could one hundred percent rely on.

Aislinn took a step forward and hugged his nape as he nudged her right shoulder with his muzzle. She buried her face in his nightly coat and took a deep breath, a moment later realizing this wasn't the best idea. She shook her head and inhaled again, distancing herself to the length of her arm from his face.

"I think I'm losing myself," she whispered. The horse gave her a thoughtful look, telling her he was willing to listen. "I don't know what to do anymore, Shade. They are calling to me... the dragons inside. I never had my own life. From the moment I woke up on that wagon, Ulfric Stormcloak sitting on the very same bench as me, tied up right, I was destined to be the Dragonborn and just that. Alduin set me on the course of my destiny and it haunted me ever since. I have no past and nothing I would call a life. I thought I had developed a personality of some kind... but I guess embracing my fate and telling myself it might actually be fun does not count as independent thinking. I always just did what people told me. And now the thirst for power is becoming more and more unbearable every moment. It's like I'm turning into a dragon... one blinded by bloodlust and visions of dominating the world. There has always been so little of me... and now I'm losing even the little I have."

Shadowmere snuffled and nuzzled against Aislinn's cheek in a calming gesture. She patted him tenderly, pressing her forehead against his for a slight moment. Then she walked past him and swung herself to the saddle atop.

"Guess that's all for today's whining session," she sighed. "We'll have to head to the meeting point soon. And I guess someone won't be happy to know that I'm roaming the woods with just my horse, even if it's you." She snorted a little, more with entertainment than embitterment. She tugged Shadowmere's reins slightly to her left to indicate their direction, despite knowing that the loyal horse somehow always anticipated which way they were headed. She looked around at the golden leaves of the surrounding birch trees clouded by a dim grey morning mist one last time. For a brief moment, she thought she spotted a movement behind one of the white trunks but the next moment there was nothing but a silent murmur of the trees bending meekly in the breeze. She watched the stables fade in the grey as she was carried away by her black friend.

* * *

"Do you make it a habit to spy on people like this?" Brynjolf's rough voice pointed sharply as the rusty-haired thief left his spot behind the birch trunk which had served as his cover a moment ago and made his way to the back of the stall where a white-haired purple-robed dark elf with fiery eyes was standing, his back propped against the rear wall.

"I could ask you the same thing," Marilis answered with a smile, revealing a set of unnaturally snow-white teeth. His face revealed no emotion, only mystery sprang from it, his voice quiet, neither too high nor too deep. "Surely the Dragonborn did not expect her friend to invade her privacy. And, as a matter of fact, I was here before she even came."

"Something tells me you knew she would, though," the thief said with an undertone of suspicion.

"Perhaps." Another mysterious smile as the mage closed his eyes and then opened them in an annoyingly slow motion. "I don't think it wise to start a fight over such a trivial matter, really. We're on the same side. What's the point of fighting for Skyrim if we don't stick together?"

Brynjolf snorted and squinted at him.

"You don't trust me," the elf said, the smile still formed on his lips.

"I don't know you."

An expressionless sigh escaped the Dunmer's lips. "We are losing time here."

Without another word, he whistled and a cream-colored horse came running to him. He jumped into the saddle lightly, patted the animal on its nape and jabbed its flank with his heels tenderly. The horse followed the trail of Aislinn and Shadowmere, leaving Brynjolf to watch its back. The thief did not hesitate, however, taking the last remaining horse, a mighty looking dark brown stallion with a chestnut-colored mane which reminded him of Aislinn's hair, from the stall and catching up to his uninvited companion in seconds. He did not like to ride horses, feeling much safer on his reliable feet, but current situation did not leave him much choice. He watched the Dunmer mage cautiously, trying to detect any kind of suspicious movement that might give anything away. He knew far too well that his efforts were wasted but still couldn't help but be wary of him. This elf had a strange lust in his look and last night he had kept directing it towards Aislinn. The ever trusting lass had not noticed a thing which was driving Brynjolf crazy and filled him with strange anxiety. Even more disturbing was the fact that she had just given away her utmost secret feelings, which she didn't want to talk about even in front of Brynjolf himself, to him. He was annoyed for the sole reason of someone else knowing what she had been thinking deep inside. He claimed this secret his own, a passage to her heart which only he could take. And this uncanny Dunmer had just managed to take this privilege from him.

It did not take long for them to catch a glimpse of a pitch black horse coat, a lone figure in a mighty daedric armor sitting in the saddle on top of it, the crimson crevices on the armor pulsating with a dull light. She did not have her helmet on, making her short chestnut hair fly about freely. She turned around cautiously as the two of them approached her, checking her surroundings for a possible danger. Her eyes met with Brynjolf's and her face displayed a sheepish expression of a silent apology the moment the thief sent a scolding look her way.

"Do you really find it so bothersome to just wait for me or Karliah if you have to insist on not joining the Legion before Shor's Stone?" he inquired grumpily, pulling the reins to match the pace of his horse with Shadowmere's.

"I needed some privacy," she said evasively. He watched as her brows furrowed but she hardly made it possible to guess anything she could be thinking from her face.

"And is your privacy worth your safety?"

"My privacy is worth myself," she responded sternly.

He stared at her for a moment, ignoring the meaningful looks their Dunmer companion kept landing on them. Aislinn pulled Shadowmere closer to Brynjolf and nodded in apology to Marilis. He nodded back with an apprehensive look in his face and tugged the reins of his steed slightly to slow its pace. The two thieves went ahead and soon their figures turned into mere silhouettes on the background of mighty Fort Greenwell which rose above the scattered pines and birches surrounding it.

"You don't have to give me this look," Aislinn sighed, shooting an irked glance at Brynjolf. "I'm still a thief and I know when someone is eavesdropping on me."

"I wasn't eavesdropping," he defended uttered in defense. "I just…"

"So should I call it stalking?" Another sigh escaped her lips. "Bryn, can't you just leave me alone for a while?"

So it was Bryn now. This was really bad. She wasn't used to calling people shorter names, maybe except children since she had a weakness for them. It could only mean she was angry with him.

"So, where did Karliah go?"

Brynjolf blinked at the sudden change of topic. She liked to do that a lot, whenever the subject of their discussion involved something she did not wish to talk about. It was either this or a long silence which eventually melted into a sort of casual conversation. Still, he could not get used to it and felt taken aback every time it happened. The upside was that she never stayed angry for too long.

"She went to meet Farkhali," he replied after a short pause. "She was supposed to return today with the news from Balgruuf. Hopefully it's good for us."

"Balgruuf is no fool. He doesn't like to get involved in wars but he can put two and two together. And if Farkhali is the one we sent to persuade him, he couldn't stand a chance." A silent chuckle escaped Aislinn's mouth.

Brynjolf suppressed his mixed emotions and his lips formed a mild smile. There was a moment of silence until they heard a roar tear through the air and shake the ground around them. Instinctively, Aislinn reached for her bow and looked up the sky. Her eyes did not have to search for long to spot a dark winged silhouette of huge measures gliding the currents of the wind just a mile ahead. It headed northeast, ignoring the creatures below rushing from it in horror. She halted, staring at the beast with a puzzled expression, before she heeled Shadowmere to a fierce gallop. Brynjolf gasped as she did but quickly followed her.

"Lass!" he called, desperately trying to catch up with her. He shuddered as he realized that Shadowmere outmatched his horse by great measure. He was furious. Whatever the reason Aislinn had decided to follow the dragon, he was desperate to stop her. Even if the roads in the Rift and the Whiterun Hold were safe, their destination lied elsewhere and this was no time to be fighting an angry dragon. He cussed when he watched her silhouette fade in distance.

"Namira's rotten bones, come back, you fool! Slimy eyes of a fatty troll, damn it! There's a limit to Nocturnal's patience!"

He heard two pairs of hoofs cantering behind him and saw a fluttering mass of purple robes as the Dunmer mage closed the gap between them in a speedy rush.

"Hop on," he beckoned.

"What?" Brynjolf stared at him in disbelief.

"I said hop on. You want to catch up with her, do you not?"

The thief smirked but did as the dark elf had told him. The Dunmer slid his hand into a well-hidden pocket in his robes and pulled out a pellucid orb of the size of an eagle egg. He held his hand over it for a brief moment and a flash of silver light followed. A trail of what looked like shimmering silver dust appeared in front of them and led the way Shadowmere had galloped to. The elf heeled his horse to hurry and Brynjolf blinked in surprise as the land around him turned into a whirlwind of blurry images.

"Not that I know much about magic but I've never seen anything quite like this," he whispered in astonishment.

"You won't be able to learn this at any college in Tamriel," Marilis replied with more than a bit of pride in his voice, "nor will you be able to use this, in case you consider making me a part of your business." He smiled as Brynjolf raised a brow. "There are advantages the Dunmer gain by worshipping Daedra faithfully. This is one of them. Although," he cleared his throat meaningfully, "this particular knowledge is reserved for the chosen ones."

Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

"Whatever, just hurry up and catch her before it's too late," he grumbled.

"As you wish."

It felt like eternity to him. Although they were slowly but surely closing in on Shadowmere, the undead assassin steed was not to be underestimated. Like a lighting in the skies he pierced the air, surmounting any obstacles with ease, as though the sharp rocks rising high above him were but tiny bumps on the road, the ponds and rivers no more than small puddles and the steep slopes just gentle mounds of elevated ground. He kept the dragon in his sight, rushing furiously after its tail. Still, a great deal of time has passed, the sun behind the cloudy screen advancing to the west horizon, before it started descending at last, circling above the rippled land. Shadowmere slowed his pace and so did Marilis's horse. Finally, Brynjolf could look around without being blinded by the blurry colorful haze surrounding them during their frantic stampede. He inspected the landscape thoroughly, stopping at every distinct point for a brief moment.

A low and rather constricted fort lay on their right which Brynjolf identified as Fort Amol. A river passed it on the right and flew into a vast confluence a few miles ahead, providing water to the mill on its opposite side. On his left side he could see the snowy slopes of High Hrothgar silently rising to the skies in the distance.

 _Great,_ he thought furiously as he examined the land. _So we're in Eastmarch. No soldiers protecting us, bunch of crazed Thalmor could be awaiting us at every gods-damned corner. Lucky there aren't any corners here._ He snorted silently and shot a piercing glare at Aislinn as they approached Shadowmere.

"What in gods-damned Oblivion are you thinking?!" he snapped at her, his face now matching the color of Shadowmere's eyes. "Do you realize how far we've got? Never mind the meeting, we'll be lucky to get back in one piece!"

"Brynjolf, this is bad," she said anxiously, barely noticing the two companions riding in tandem.

"Oh, you don't say."

"No, just look at how fast we got here. There were, wolves, bears and sabre cats along the road. We also passed several hunters and a few inhabited abodes. That dragon didn't stop to hunt any of those, and by the Grace of Akatosh I swear it's hungry and Oblivion fires wouldn't stop it from satisfying that need."

"So?" Brynjolf gave her and uncompromising look but a trace of doubt shaded his face for a brief moment.

"Someone sent that dragon and made absolutely sure it would tear the place apart once it arrived at its destination. It's being controlled."

"I still don't see why that should be any of your concern."

"I'm the Dragonborn, for the Nine's sake! These things _are_ my concern!"

"A Dragonborn hunted by legions of blasted Thalmor in their shiny gilded armors! We're in Eastmarch, for Nocturnal's sake! You're not gonna make it alive out of here!"

She glanced at him furiously, clenching her jaws, her body trembling in rage.

"I'll see to it that I do."

And she heeled Shadowmere to a gallop once more, reaching for her bow and an arrow on the way. The two men followed until she slid off the black stallion after a mile of ride. Brynjolf and Marilis leaped down on the ground after her, all of them on their guard. Aislinn paused as she spotted a mass of shining steel armors and helmets strapped with yellow cloth hemming the northern horizon. Yellow shields with an emblem of a horse carved into them rested in the hands of their wearers who stood alert as the dragon circled above them. Aislinn gasped.

"That's the Whiterun army. These are our reinforcements!"

Brynjolf stood with his mouth open for a brief moment until just two words escaped his lips.

"Oh shit."

They ran frantically downhill, avoiding the rocks and pine trees which kept getting in their way annoyingly. Aislinn took a deep breath and concentrated all her senses on the roaring dragon. It was huge, its silver scales streaked by scarce traces of gold, shining even under the clouded sky. Its prickled ridge glimmered with sparks of purple, just as did its wings. She focused on its movements in attempt to prevent it from diving down on the soldiers. A split second before it did, she Shouted.

 _"Joor Zah Frul!"_

The dragon turned suddenly in a breakneck twist, rising a few hundreds of feet at once. Aislinn winced as she realized she had missed. Moreover, the dragon seemed to have taken her Shout into account. It knew she was there.

She ran towards the army, a daedric arrow nocked in her bow. Then she slowed down, focused and steadied her aim. The arrow went loose with a buzzing sound and pierced the dragon's skin, diving itself deep into its belly just before the beast took another dive. Aislinn stared in horror as it flooded the soldiers in flames. Behind her, Brynjolf released his own arrow, matching her skill almost perfectly. Marilis ran forward, his hands raised in an incantation as bright flames flashed from his right hand and violet light emerged from his left, turning into a dremora lord a hundred feet ahead of him. The dragon would not be fooled. Ignoring the dremora lord, it turned its attention to Aislinn, the most dangerous threat and also most tempting target, the Dragonborn. There was no dragon that would ignore such a challenge, especially when it presented itself on a silver platter. What a blissful coincidence that the Dovakhiin had decided to seek it on her own.

Aislinn frowned with concentration as she nocked another arrow. She released it and it went wide as the dragon soared up and down again, making its way towards her. She ducked as it flew over her, landing just a few feet away. Aislinn gasped when she realized she was at the grasp of its razor-sharp claws, let alone the deep hollow of its mouth encircled by two rows of sharp teeth. She could feel its breath as it reached towards her.

Registering the return of her breath, she Shouted again.

 _"Wuld Nah Kest!"_

The world came swirling around her as she dashed several hundreds of feet backwards, feeling a burning pain as the claws had buried themselves in the flesh of her right arm just before she had released the Words. She gasped slightly and got ready for another shot.

"Need a little help?" a calm voice came from behind. Aislinn turned her head just an inch to catch a glimpse of Karliah in her Nightingale armor over her shoulder. She jerked in surprise at her sudden appearance but quickly regained her composure as a cone of frost from the dragon's mouth shrouded them. She darted to her left, her Nightingale companion following her. The frost was getting to her bones, making her shiver and lose her speed. She watched Karliah nock an arrow and fire it at once and could not help admire her grace and precision. The arrow hit right between the dragon's eyes, making it roar with pain and shake the ground.

A shower of arrows emerged from the skies as the Whiterun army joined the battle. The beast rose again, spreading its wings and casting a dark shadow upon the land below. Aislinn ran, dodging one attack after another, flames replacing frost and frost following the flames, while everyone else kept shooting whatever they had at their disposal at the angered creature. Again, she concentrated on its movements, estimating its course and readying herself for another attack.

 _"Joor Zah Frul!"_ she Shouted, her mighty voice spreading across the land, resonating through the flesh and bending the proud trees to the ground.

This time, she hit her target. The dragon let out a furious roar as its wings gave way and it sank to the ground. Aislinn drew her swords, the daedric blade shaking slightly in her right hand as the pain from her injury spread. She hurried to the beast accompanied by a dozen of soldiers in heavy armor with their shields ready in their hands. A swift magic shield spell cast by Marilis saved her when the dragon breathed the next volley of fire. As it ceased, Aislinn took a long leap onto its neck and pierced its scales, burying both of her swords down to their hilts in its flesh. The dragon let out one last tormented cry before it stiffened, its wings lay motionless on the ground.

Aislinn exhaled, sheathed her swords and slid down its neck as the beast's body burned, countless sparks of gold rising from it and encircling her with a humming sound before they entered her body and made her feel that all too familiar impact of raw power becoming one with her soul. She cast her eyes over the mass of people surrounding her, trying not to think about their startled wide-eyed gazes and the paleness of their faces, the crown jewel among them being Brynjolf with his lips tightly pressed together in but a thin line. He was clearly angry. She knew he had a good reason to be but he had to understand. She sighed.

A tall black-furred Khajiit woman in a deep green armor approached them. Aislinn recognized Farkhali, the master agent among all that she knew. She nodded at the members of her small group and they followed her down a winding path to a hollow near a pond surrounded by bushes. It had gotten dark and the shadows of night cast themselves upon the company of four thieves. They checked their surroundings, making sure that no-one had followed them and no-one was around. Then they sat down in a circle.

"So," Farkhali started. "Originally Karliah was supposed to deliver the message but since you're all here, I think it best to tell you myself. As you could see, Jarl Balgruuf had decided to support our decision and send a few soldiers. They were supposed to get their supplies here tonight but none of the caravans arrived. The dragon itself is bad enough but I have to assume that something happened to Ri'saad to whom I gave the letter from the Jarl."

"The dragon wasn't a coincidence," Aislinn said grimly, her brows furrowed. "It had been summoned. Someone ordered it to come here and wreak havoc among the soldiers. They were only lucky that I noticed how strange it was for it to leave every creature on the ground untouched and decided to follow it."

"Yeah," Brynjolf muttered angrily. "No kidding, how lucky."

"Bryn, please…"

It was Bryn again. He wanted to be called Bryn. But not this way. He averted his eyes.

"We have to reconsider the whole campaign," Karliah said resolutely. "I never expected anyone getting ahead of the Thieves Guild like this. The person who did this must be an extraordinarily skilled thief. If this goes on, we could as well get destroyed from within."

"The question is if the hotheaded warhammer legate is going to listen," Aislinn shook her head.

"He'll have to. We can't march on Windhelm with an army of just about a third of their own force and expect to win a siege. Especially if they command dragons."

"What a weird thing," Aislinn said, her mind searching for any logical explanation of what had just happened. "Beside me, I've only met two other creatures who could command dragons so far. One of them was Miraak, the first Dragonborn and a Dragon Priest. The other one was Alduin himself."

A grave silence fell upon them as they imagined the power they were up against. Then Farkhali's deep voice broke it in a grim tone.

"Which reminds me that I have another piece of information I want to share with you. I spied on several of those damned Altmer. And they were talking about their crazy leader being possessed by something. It's just bits and pieces and it didn't make much sense to me but maybe you would be able to make more of it. Apparently the one they call the Hunter gathers some sacrifices and brings them to Elenwen for some kind of dark practice. Those people disappear and no-one hears about them ever again. Elenwen might be practicing some dark rituals up at wherever she resides. Probably more than just simple necromancy. The word has it that she's preparing a weapon."

 _Necromancy,_ Aislinn was thinking. _A means of communicating with the dead. It can involve bringing them back to life, sometimes attaching their passed soul to a body, preferably living. But the body cannot sustain the link for too long. The stronger the soul, the stronger the owner of the body has to be._

 _"Kill him. We don't need the guy."_ They want her alive. Could it be that they want to use her for such a practice? How much difference would her body make? She was the Dragonborn, after all, capable of hosting many souls. Dragon souls no less.

 _"Elenwen and some other 'initiates' seem to have found something regarding Alduin. Something that they found valuable. I say it's playing with fire and necromancy is a child's play compared to this. He is the Destroyer of Worlds, even his name says so."_ That was what Sinawen had said to her. Of course, she was not to be trusted, but some of the things she had shared bore a seed of the truth. Then, a sudden realization flashed through her mind and her face went pale as the snow on the highest peak looming over the Throat of the World.

"This might be just a mere speculation of mine," she said slowly, practically forcing the words to overcome the hard lump that had settled in her throat and make themselves heard, "but I'm starting to think that the one leading the Thalmor might be Alduin himself."

* * *

 _And so you have it! I must say that this chapter was unbelievably hard to write. It was really difficult to think of a way to move the story forward smoothly without spilling out too much while at the same time uncovering at least something. Also, you might have noticed a change in my style. I don't think it's that drastic but I did work a huge lot on my narrating and expand my vocabulary by a whole bunch of useful words. I do hope you like it. Please, review it if you can, tell me anything that you might think useful for me, I'd be so happy to hear from you._

 _I have to thank Myrielle for her story called Dragonrend since it gave me motivation (well, it made me lose it at first due to my stupid inferiority complex, but screw the complexes, I'm not a native speaker and I'm determined to get better at this :D) and I really learned a tremendous lot from it. Her story is really awesome, written in a beautiful language and her characters are so elaborate and detailed that it makes me feel as if I was a part of the story._

 _Speaking of which, I have to stop reading so many Elder Scrolls fanfictions because Brynjolf is in most of them and every time it's a different Brynjolf. It's confusing me and I tend to forget what my Brynjolf is like. :D_

 _Ah, ok, I'll stop now. I hope you had a good read. As always, thanks for your likes, follows and reviews and stay tuned. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	14. The Great Plans

**Chapter 14: The Great Plans**

There was silence, deep and heavy as the harsh reality sank into the hearts of the four thieves sitting in a circle, shrouded by darkness of the night that surrounded the hollow they had made their temporary headquarters. Then, the beautiful Khajiit with fur that could compete with the night in terms of darkness and eyes like two ice-blue marbles spoke with a tremble in her melodic voice.

"What is your plan, Aislinn? You're the dragon expert _and_ the boss here. And the official leader of the expansion, let's not forget. So what are you going to do? Anything is possible now. I wouldn't be surprised if we were standing up against a dragon army. I find it, well… disturbing at least."

"To say that 'disturbing' is an understatement would be a huge understatement," Aislinn replied dryly, picking her fingers unconsciously. She hissed a little when a sharp pain in her right arm reminded her of her still untreated injury as she tugged it. Raising her left hand, she cast a quick healing spell and directed it towards the wounded limb. She knew a scar would remain as she hadn't treated it right away. Brynjolf jerked slightly when he took notice of the spell, his eyes piercing through her with yet another worried look. "I need to take care of him as soon as possible. As much as I hate to do this, I'll have to leave the leadership to someone else and find the Elder Scroll that would take me to that cursed tomb. And hope that I will find what I'm looking for there."

"You realize a lot of people are going to hate you for leaving them when they need you the most?" Farkhali questioned in a neutral tone.

"Well, they can either hate me or succumb to the Thalmor. People hating me is the least of my worries right now, I'd say."

"So about the invasion…"

"Go back to Balgruuf, Farkhali, and tell him what happened before he accuses you of treachery. I'll write a letter to him so take it with you."

"What about Marcus?" Karliah inquired, her voice calm as ever. "Who's going to tell him?"

"I will head there before setting for Hjaalmarch. Those dumbheads of soldiers will need a great deal of persuading before they trust another leader. And I don't think the peace between Stormcloaks and Imperials would last for more than a week."

"All right. I'd say we take off immediately. Sleeping horseback might not be the best but time is against us."

A couple of nods followed and they all rose to walk back the winding road to the Whiterun encampment. Marilis was tending to the wounded soldiers when they arrived, waving at them in welcome. Aislinn joined him, looking solicitously at a pile of singed corpses that had been risen a few hundred feet from the camp.

"Welcome back," he said, nodding slowly. "We… didn't really get to talk too much before the fight broke out. How fare you?"

"Could be worse," she muttered as she knelt down and raised both of her hands to cast a healing spell on a soldier who lay by her feet. "Thanks for saving my life out there."

"Oh, don't mention it. You have just saved a whole army," he winked at her merrily. "Few would bother pursuing a dragon like that but you did. I'm honored I could be of service to such a valiant hero." She felt a slight flush make its way to her cheeks.

"You're overestimating me," she smiled at him.

"Surely not," he returned her smile tenfold. "To have such a strong will, always be there for the people no matter how hard the times, is a virtue not many can pride themselves on. I have a feeling this has not been easy for you. It is written all over your face. You are struggling, putting up a fight deep inside. And yet you fight so fiercely in the battle, leading the people to victory. I am sure you will prevail over your inner demons in time."

Aislinn stared at him for a moment, unable to avert her gaze. He wore a gentle, encouraging expression, his smile melting her heart. Somehow he saw right through her and she wasn't ready for it. She felt tears well up in her eyes, no matter how hard she tried to suppress them. He put up his hand and wiped them off tenderly, making her cheeks turn the color of roses.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Aislinn said shakily.

"It's all right," he shook his head. "Everyone needs comforting from time to time."

"Thank you," she whispered. He gave her an understanding nod.

She took a deep breath and slapped herself in the face lightly before proceeding through the camp. She soon found Hadvar, the very first person she had talked to after escaping from Helgen. He had broken his arm but welcomed her with a smile on his face.

"Long time, no see," the brown-haired Nord said. "This didn't really go the way we had planned it to."

"It sure didn't," Aislinn replied a little disconcertedly. "I will have to report to legate Marcus and think of another solution. The sooner we get there the better. Could you provide three horses for us? We will leave the ones we rode here in your care. There are just two, however, since my escort kind of left his steed elsewhere."

"Pardon me for prying like this but weren't there five of you in your group?" he asked curiously.

"One of them is going back to Whiterun and she will probably use her own means to get there. As for me, I don't need to change my horse. He is a kind of special breed that doesn't tire so easily."

She earned a raised brow from Hadvar but he did as she requested nevertheless. Soon the group of three thieves and one mage found themselves riding their horses back the way they had come from, silver dust trail leading their way and speeding their steeds tremendously. Aislinn noticed Karliah and Brynjolf exchange meaningful looks several times and started wondering what that was about, but since they had been partners in crime for many years even before Mercer Frey had taken over the Guild, she suspected they would have a few secrets just between themselves. Still, curiosity was slowly taking over her and deep inside she decided that she would unveil this mystery in time.

* * *

"Just where have you been all this time?!" legate Marcus exclaimed furiously the moment he saw Aislinn and her company raise the curtain covering the entrance to his tent. "Is this some kind of joke to you? War is upon us and you don't have anything better to do than roam around the Eastmarch border and Shout to your heart's content?!"

"A dragon cut off the reinforcements from Whiterun," Aislinn explained briefly, closing her eyes before the enraged Imperial.

"What?" he stared at her in disbelief.

"A dragon. It was sent there and attacked the Whiterun army knowing far too well that they were headed for Windhelm."

"And I'm supposed to believe that? Next time you tell me mudcrabs eat horses?"

"It's true," Brynjolf said calmly. "I've seen the beast with my own two eyes. It didn't stop for a hunt, just went straight from Greenwall to Eastmarch and attacked their men."

"So…" Marcus hesitated a little before sorting out his thoughts and putting them into words, "you want to tell me that someone is actually sending dragons to annihilate us?"

Aislinn drew breath before answering. "We suspect that it's the World-Eater and he's working with the Thalmor."

Marcus's eyes widened for a moment. Then he shook his head, smirking in denial.

"This is just ridiculous!" he roared. "As far as I know, you, the Dragonborn, have defeated the black dragon, so how could it be him? And that he would be in league with the Dominion? Oh, don't make me laugh!"

"I was wrong," Aislinn said silently, trembling with anxiety. "Alduin is most probably alive and searching for me. Please, you have to believe us. I wouldn't dare make such a joke. Not when there's a whole country on the line. Maybe even the whole world."

The legate's face went pale at her words and his expression turned from outraged to serious.

"I have a hard time believing your words, Dragonborn," he said. "I cannot afford to make any assumptions without being presented with a solid evidence. However, you are an essential figure in this war and I cannot afford to ignore your message either. I will call a meeting and we will discuss what you have to say. In the meantime, I would propose you get some rest since it seems you haven't slept much at nighttime. And leave your armor here, I'll tell my smith to tend to it. That must have been quite some fight to leave such marks on a daedric armor. Is your arm all right?"

"It's fine," Aislinn said appreciatively. "Thank you for your concern."

"A fine warrior you are," he nodded. "Off you go, then. Sleep well."

She bowed a little and left the tent, heading to her own. Marilis smiled at her encouragingly and she averted her eyes. Brynjolf snorted silently and gave the Dunmer a sour look.

In her tent, Aislinn found a spare set of armor and put it on. It was a steel armor, one she wouldn't put much trust in, especially when fighting dragons. Suddenly a wave of appreciation ran through her as she realized how helpless the regular soldiers and city guards would feel when a real threat appeared. They had no real protection, and yet they were brave enough to engage in a war against the Thalmor and faithfully protect their land. It was something she had to admire. With a portion of nostalgia, she remembered her old stalhrim armor and the one she had made for Brynjolf. They were somewhere in Cedran's cellar, if the elves had not found them. In her thoughts she swore that one day she would take them back.

She carried her daedric armor to the smith, watching the soldiers in the camp attentively. They made way for her, some of them bowing or nodding, some pretending they were not there. There was a friendly fist fight near one of the fires and she watched curiously as a muscly Redguard knocked his Nord opponent to the ground. Then she noticed Karliah and Brynjolf sitting by another fire, slightly secluded from the others, with tankards of beer in their hands. They seemed to be deep in silent conversation, both of them wearing a slightly amused expression. She was sure they had not noticed her standing there and used it to her advantage. She circled the nearest tent and crouched. Sneakily she moved past the tent and behind a withered oak tree. From there she carefully trod to a rock that lay just a few feet from the fire, until she heard Karliah talking.

"Two hundred," she said.

"C'mon, don't be a cheapskate. Three hundred and make it count."

"Oh, fine," she chuckled. "Three hundred Septims for whoever first gets their hands on it. And," she added in a mysterious voice, "three hundred and fifty if our boss doesn't find out."

"You're on!"

Aislinn smiled. There was no doubt about it. These two were planning a theft right under her nose, thinking they might outflank their boss. But they were a hundred years early to do that and she would thoroughly enjoy their surprised faces when she claimed the prize. But for now, she was going to play their little game and have fun watching them try hard.

* * *

He was marching through the sunlit corridor, his dark blue hood deep in his face, barely noticed by the passerby high elves or any other individuals roaming the passage. He liked to keep it that way and prided himself on being able to blend in and never attract unwanted attention. Despite his unusually tall stature, and overall unusual appearance for that matter, people mostly barely knew he was even there, their gazes not stopping at him, letting him slip away as though he was just a fly, silently buzzing in the air around them, one of the many, a mere part of the crowd, not worthy of being noticed. But still waters run deep and he knew better than anyone that this sense was false. He was anything but ordinary, never straying from his path, always seeing his matters to the end. He only desired one thing and that was power. Power over everything and anything. Not even the World-Eater himself would be able to stop him. Not if he obtained the power of the Dragonborn. Unfortunately for him, at this very moment, someone else was doing everything in their power to beat him to it, and he knew that someone was very close.

The setup had been perfect. He would carry the pearl claw to Riften and let it be stolen by the thieves. To his astonishment, they had sent a mere child for it, most inexperienced above all. In spite of that, he had to admire the boy's courage and quick grasp of the situation. He had worked swiftly and would probably have deceived any other individual, especially had they not anticipated the theft. Not him, but it did not matter. The Dragonborn had gotten her hands on the claw, headed to Markarth and obtained all the information she needed. The only obstacle had been Paarthurnax, the blasted dragon who had known too much. Of course she would have chosen him over any other dragon. She had trusted him like nobody else, never mind the irony of him being the brother and former right hand of Alduin himself, the traitor who had lost his insight into true power, and yet, he had somehow managed to pose a threat which was not wise to ignore. The dragon who had mastered himself and who, above understanding his own essence, had understood the way of mortals. A disgrace to dragons but a formidable enemy of those in seek of power. But not anymore.

He was walking the corridor at a measured pace, his light leather boots barely making any sound on the marble floor. Between the tall pillars decorated with gilded leaf ornaments on both sides stood others, quietly talking or hurrying to either side of the corridor. Behind the pillars on his left, a flood of sunlight was making its way through the tall tessellated windows, turning the color of light green and blue as it reached the glass. Before him opened a pointed archway to a round chamber with a fountain at its center. This was an amazing piece of architecture, combining the imposing style of the Imperials of Cyrodiil with the detailed craftsmanship of the Altmer, or rather, Aldmer of the old times. It was overflowing with ancient magic which allowed its occupants to transport from it to a number of portals all over Tamriel. Too bad the Dominion had wasted its last portal on the embassy in Skyrim, for he wouldn't allow for them to take over the land. Not like this anyway. And it would be another millennium until the next portal was ready.

Traversing the corridor, he passed under the archway and entered the chamber behind it. There were seven wooden doors along its perimeter leading to other corridors. They opened and closed as the elves around him passed through them, all except the second one on his left. He raised his hand and cast a spell, whispering an incantation in his mind. _I am but a shadow on the wall, passing unknown to the worlds, cast away from the Time. The eyes of living shall not see and the dead shall not speak. Silence be my witness._ He waited until he felt a vibe buzz through his body and around it. Then he slowly turned left and took the second door. He proceeded through the dark and narrow corridor lit dimly by scarce torches attached to the walls which descended steeply until it reached another wooden door. He stopped before it, leaning to the wall on the left. He took a deep breath and cast another spell. Then he heard voices from behind the door.

"Donniath, my dear," spoke a female elven voice, deep and a little crispy, indicating no small amount of wisdom and experience. Still, there was a touch of uneasiness in it, anxiousness that drove the woman to the edge of breaking down. This was Elenwen, the First Emissary of the Thalmor in Skyrim and the one rumored to be possessed. He never believed rumors until he made sure of them for himself but from the sound of her voice, it certainly seemed that way. "What a pleasure to see you, really. What brings you here this time?"

"Your next vessel lies ready in the Sanctum," another female voice responded. This one was quiet, reserved and very sharp. It reeked with danger and he knew instinctively that this individual, unlike most, might be able to present a challenge for him. Still, this was an Argonian voice. So the Hunter was an Argonian, _if_ it was a single person. And surely there was no way an Argonian would be named Donniath, unless she had been raised by a Dunmer family. A very old Dunmer family to say the least. But that surely wasn't the case. She was clever enough to not reveal her name to anyone, not even her current boss. So the Hunter probably had a secret.

"Excellent!" Elenwen exclaimed affectedly. "Is there… anything else you want with me?"

"Ah, yes. The invasion on Windhelm. It's supposed to take place three days from now but since I managed to cut the troops sent by Balgruuf from their supplies, I don't think it's going to happen. And it seems that one of our agents has managed to infiltrate the Riften army. I believe it's not going to take long until we capture the Dragonborn and present her to the Master."

"Great. Go and see to it."

"As you command, my lady."

As he knew the Argonian would soon come out of the room, he rushed back through the corridor. The illusion was still on but he did not want to risk being discovered by the Hunter. She was smart and capable, and there was the possibility of her being able to see through such spells. He entered the round room with the fountain again and headed for the door situated right opposite of where he was standing. Passing through another dark corridor, almost identical to the one he had just left, he entered a small chamber with a teleport, glimmering in violet at its edges while absorbing the light and matter in its center. He walked inside and the world came swirling in all colors, fragments of hazy images passing him in an astonishing speed. He soon found himself in a small hidden cave underneath the Thalmor Embassy.

Walking down a narrow tunnel and pulling a lever at the end of it, a hidden door slid open before him, leading to a fairly low cliff not far from the entrance to the embassy. He jumped down on the road below it, darkness of the night shrouding his figure, in a graceful leap, his blue robes flying about, and headed down. His destination was Solitude where he arrived a few hours later, having had to fight a harsh snowstorm that came down to him in merciless blows, whipping his face and freezing his limbs. A few stamina potions had helped him pace up but the road still took longer than usual. Finally, he had the city gate behind his back, having had no trouble entering the city the Aldmer he was. The snowstorm had ceased its raging, for in Solitude the skies were always clear. It seemed like strange and powerful magic was in effect here, protecting the city from all kinds of mishap. One day, he would find its source and devour it, but that would have to wait. The Dragonborn was his top priority now.

He took the main road paved with cobblestones, passing the solid looking stone buildings of the shops and the deserted marketplace on his right, walked under the great archway which served as a part of the city fortification and proceeded around a church-like building with a cozy tower on top of it. On its reverse side was a door. His right hand groped in his robes, pulling out a silver key. He slid it in the lock, opened it quietly and entered the building.

He traversed the dimly lit antechamber and entered a hallway with a wooden floor. On his left was a staircase leading down to a corridor. He reached the door at the end of it and slid behind it to enter the catacombs. He found himself in a vast cave, a few sets of broad pillars on either side, leading to areas filled with corpses and coffins. Right in front of him by the wall opposite the entrance was a table lit by candlelight, a dark-haired beautiful she-elf sitting on the chair beside it.

"You sure took your sweet time," she commented dryly, crossing her legs and leaning to the table.

"Glad to see you too, Sinawen," he replied in the same tone and threw his arms about in a phony welcoming gesture. He slid his hood off and a flood of dark gold-colored hair spread around his shoulders. He looked at Sinawen with a pair of dark eyes whose color was hard to tell. They seemed black from one angle but blue from another, ethereal violet sparks occasionally lining them. His face was slender, his nose slightly curved like an eagle's beak and his lips more of a thin line. Hunger mirrored in his face, one which could not be satisfied with any kind of consumables.

"So, how did it go? Anything interesting?"

"Our dear Dragonborn is a thick-headed idiot who just keeps straying from the task. Apparently she thinks she has time to waste," he snorted as he sat down opposite Elenwen and took a mug of water resting on the table.

"I thought you'd tell me something I _didn't_ know," she smirked. "What do you expect from someone who trusts a complete stranger who just acts all suspicious and stuff. Well, of course, trust a suspicious person because a real enemy wouldn't try to act suspicious. Good riddance. I don't like her thief friend, though."

"She _really_ plans to lead the invasion," he emphasized. "And Elenwen has an agent among the Imperials. Presumably a capable one, since the one who delivered the message to Elenwen was the Hunter. She's an Argonian assassin and I wouldn't take her lightly. They have a knack for performing flawlessly in this field and this one seems exceptional even among them. And if she vouches for the agent, then they must be damn good."

"Still, they want the Dragonborn alive. There is the possibility of waiting until she gets captured and then snatching her from under their nose."

"I have my doubts about that. They mentioned some master of theirs and also that she would become a vessel for him."

"You don't mean…" Sinawen's eyes widened.

"We have to take the worst into account. If they found Alduin, there's the possibility of never being able to touch her again. Elenwen's out of her mind already, I wouldn't be surprised if she was going to sacrifice Mundus to him."

"So… what do we do?"

"We win the war."


	15. The Breakdown

**Chapter 15: The Breakdown**

 _To my Jarl_

 _The day you helped me with my quest to defeat Alduin is still vivid in my memory. I remember you making the hard choice to risk the safety of your people for the sake of saving the world. And yet I failed you, for Alduin was not truly defeated and the threat still lies in the air like a dark omen of death. It is he who set the citizens of Skyrim to fight among themselves, it is he who sent the Thalmor to conquer our home. He stands in their lead and is trying to take over the land. I have not been able to devour his soul and now he is back._

 _I have been hunted for the past few weeks and therefore haven't been able to contact you myself and sent a Thieves Guild representative to act in my stead. I am aware you must be suspicious of her, especially when a great part of your men have been annihilated by a dragon who most obviously attacked them on purpose, and the supplies she was supposed to provide did not arrive. She is not to blame, though. I am for I have failed you again. It was I who started this rebellion and decided to rush things on my own. You have the right to punish me accordingly when this is all over, but I humbly ask you to not punish Farkhali. She is no enemy of yours, nor will she harm any of your people._

 _I am going to search for a way to defeat Alduin once and for all but I will need a clear passage once the time has come. Please, lead Skyrim to victory. I will join you once I have found what I seek. I feel ashamed to ask for your help while leaving the Skyrim people to themselves in the time of need, but you have my word that I will return in time to save our land._

 _I apologize for always burdening you with my problems and forcing you into making hard decisions. I will pray for your safety and the safety of your people._

 _Yours Truly_

 _Aislinn, the Thane of Whiterun_

Ignoring the black-furred Khajiit woman standing before him and waiting for his reply, Balgruuf kept staring at the letter in silence. A part of his men had died. His city was running out of supplies and the supplies for the army had not come at all. And now he was supposed to believe it was all the World-Eater's doing. That the dragon who was supposed to be dead by now was alive and threatening his land again. He commanded dragons to conquer it and made the Thalmor attack the cities and hunt down the Dragonborn. Just how much more ridiculous could this story get?

And yet, he had to believe it. If he turned a blind eye to this and did not take a precaution, just what would happen were the Dragonborn's words true?

Then there was the matter of the Khajiit agent. Could he trust her? The Dragonborn advised him so, but could he really? But if she was a traitor, why would she bother coming back when his men had almost been defeated by a dragon? His mind was warning him of her but his heart was telling him to believe her.

"You used a spell on me the first time you were here," he commented, his brows furrowed slightly, piercing the woman with his marble eyes.

"You noticed," she said with a trace of surprise in her voice.

"Why would you do that?"

"I wasn't sure you would trust me if I just came to you like that and requested you to send an army," she said, narrowing her eyes slightly.

"You still don't know that, though," he pointed.

"I don't. But you are sharp, even sharper when you feel disturbed and act cautiously. I don't think the same spell would work twice on you, my Jarl," she smiled shyly. "I did all I could. I sought your help, tried to provide everything necessary and delivered you the message. You don't have to trust me but I vow for the Dragonborn, her words are the truth."

He sighed. There was a momentary silence before he spoke again, his voice calm and reserved.

"What can you do?"

"What do you want, my Jarl?"

"Information," he said simply. "Lots of information."

"I believe that… could be arranged," she said quietly, fairly aware of the irony of her words as she had said them before to the same person. He sensed her uneasiness which, oddly enough, felt reassuring to him.

"Then I think I have just the job for you," he smiled at her gently, raising his right hand to tuck a loose lock of his golden hair behind his ear. This time, it was she who shivered as he looked into her eyes.

* * *

Sinawen knew one thing for sure. She hated traveling, the wilderness, the dirt and everything that came with it. She also hated fighting openly and sometimes she asked herself if she had been born into the right world. And among all the tasks she had gotten so far, she hated this one the most. It smelled and reeked of danger. Literally.

"That's the third," she sighed as she pulled her gilded elven sword out of a sabre cat she had just slain. She jabbed the tip of her blade into the ground and leaned to its hilt as she looked up to admire the shrine of Meridia she was just passing. Not too long ago the shrine had seemed desolate, dark and abandoned, but recently it had gained a life on its own. There were bright balls on top of the stone pillars around it which closely resembled beacons, shooting beams of light as though they were creating a path through the shrine. Sinawen suspected it had something to do with the Dragonborn. So many things had changed since she had appeared. The woman was unstoppable, and once she set her mind on something, she would see it through to the end. Sinawen had no doubts that the Dragonborn would obtain the Elder Scroll and get the power to defeat Alduin. The thing she was really curious about, however, was how her mysterious companion would deal with her afterwards.

 _"Don't you take me lightly,"_ he had said to her. _"I am much more than a simple Dragon Priest. I have devoted all my life to defeating her, all those years I've spent preparing just for this, and Akatosh knows that I have lived long enough. I will not fail."_

 _And what will you do then?_ she asked in her thoughts. But he would not respond if she posed him the question, she was sure of it.

With another sigh, she sheathed her sword and continued down the path from Solitude to Dragon Bridge. She walked slowly, keeping her face hidden in the shadow of her hood. The air was fresh, carrying the scent of pines and truces which grew along the road, and the sky was clear save for a few tiny clouds which kept chasing after the sun. How unpredictable the Skyrim weather was, and if Sinawen did not feel the shiver from yesterday's snowstorm still running down her spine and sending chills through her limbs, she would have never guessed there had been one.

The road descended in a gentle slope along the ridge the shrine of Meridia stood on and then further, slowly getting closer to the river on Sinawen's left. Apart from two Vigilants of Stendarr there were no other people around. But that was no surprise since there were barely any people traveling ever since the Dominion had made their move.

As she reached Dragon Bridge, she noticed several Thalmor officials, some of them hooded while the others exhibited their gilded armors, shimmering in the sunlight. She raised her hand in a greeting, touching her thumb and her middle finger, indicating she was one of them. The secret gesture changed every once in a while but she kept herself updated on it as it was essential to maintain her act. A few of them nodded and returned the greeting. Then, one of them, a man of sharp features with piercing black eyes and brown hair which was rather short for an Altmer, stepped in her way.

"Greetings," he said brusquely, examining her cautiously. "There is a new regulation in effect now. You are not to wander the land alone, as the Dragonborn poses a threat to all of us. Lady Elenwen assigned special guards to all the people who would have business out of the cities. May I ask you what your purpose is and why you are traveling alone?"

"Good afternoon, err…" she looked at him hesitantly. He raised a brow at her reaction.

"Arethil," he pointed. "I have recently been appointed as a Squire." He raised his hand to show a ring which looked like two slender snakes made of gold and silver twisted around each other, their heads meeting at the top of his middle finger. Their eyes were tiny rubies and sapphires, sparkling as his hand turned.

Inadvertently, Sinawen's eyes widened. Squires were a group of Elenwen's most trusted people. No-one had been appointed as a squire for months now, some of them had even been demoted or disposed of.

"My apologies," she murmured. "I did not know."

"So it seems," he said in a disturbingly neutral tone. "So," he whispered as he walked around her, stopping just out of her sight to force her to turn her head to him as he pulled her hood out of her face, "what brings you here, lady Sinawen?"

Her heart skipped a beat. She was supposed to be a nobody. She had given up trying to climb up the merciless ladder to Elenwen's circle of trusted and decided to deal with things another way. She had stuck to the smaller jobs, making herself almost invisible. He was not supposed to know she even existed. Especially not if he was a Squire who surely had more important things to do than concerning himself with a mere errand girl.

"Surprised?" he curled his lips and that smile sent shivers down her spine. "I pride myself in keeping track of things, you know. One must be beyond observant when there is a traitor on the loose. I must praise you, though, for you are really good at what you do. One would think that such a gorgeous woman would be more… ambitious," he touched her cheek with the back of his hand and gently put a lock of her beautiful black hair out of her face, "but you keep slipping away, hiding in the shadows. To be honest, I haven't even expected to meet you here."

She doubted that but decided against spelling it out loud.

"What do you want?" she asked quietly, her voice trembling more than she would have liked it to.

"Now we're talking business. But for Kynareth's grace, pardon my rudeness. Let us sit down and talk like civilized people. There's an inn down the road, a nice and cozy one, paneled with wood. This way," he beckoned.

She forced herself to walk, feeling numb as if there were weights tied to her feet. Barely noticing the other Altmer around or anything along the way, she entered the inn as Arethil held the wooden door for her. He waved to a table in a remote corner of the room opposite the counter and she made her way there, sitting down on one of the four chairs around it. He joined her, watching her steadily, the smile still formed on his lips.

"So," he exhaled with a relaxed face, "you have had a pretty nice trip through the land, managed to skip all the important meetings but still obtained all the necessary information like passwords, secret gestures and such. Your name was on the attendance list but barely anyone has ever seen you these past two months. Your last location was Markarth where you delivered a message of barely any importance. That was six weeks ago. Then you suddenly disappeared. Everyone thought you had left, but what if you had stayed? What if you had hidden yourself in, let's say, Nchuand-Zel?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said dryly.

"Is that so? You know," he moved closer to her, his voice turning into a mere whisper, "the Dragonborn must have had a reason to infiltrate into the most guarded city in Skyrim."

"Of course. She barely does anything without a reason."

Arethil's eyes narrowed.

"Come on, Sinawen, don't be a fool. You cooperate with me and you're free to go, with a good spot guaranteed."

She snorted. "And what am I supposed to tell you?"

"You need to work on your acting skills, my dear. But let's say, for example… how did the Dragonborn escape from Markarth? And why did she go there anyway?"

"I don't know."

He sighed, pulling away from her, and leaned to the back of his chair with his hands clasped together behind his head. There was a silence, deep and heavy, and Sinawen could hear her heart throb. He kept piercing her with his eyes, a sweet smile formed on his lips. She was still, staring into those dark merciless eyes without blinking once. She knew she had to say something, _do_ something. There were five other Thalmor in the room and all of them probably answered to the guy in front of her. The guy who was currently enjoying torturing her mentally, making it nice and slow. Later he would probably grab a dagger and stab her hand. Maybe he would skin her slowly, break her bones one after another, hang her head down and poke out her eyes. He would do everything except cutting her tongue for he needed her to talk. All that only to heal her in the end and start anew. She knew the Thalmor methods well and they were beyond cruel. She had witnessed them after all, forced to laugh when the screams of the victim had filled the room. And this man knew it.

She caught a glimpse of the innkeeper out of the corner of her eye as she approached their table. She waved her hand at Arethil, a playful smile on her face.

"Let's not be so serious, master elf," she said merrily. "Shall I offer you some beef stew? It just so happens that we have some fresh… oh my, what is that?!" She pointed at Arethil's left elbow. The elf turned ever so slightly and Sinawen suddenly registered an almost imperceptible change in the innkeeper's posture, a mere gesture sent her way. It was there. _Now!_ This woman probably thought Sinawen was actually helping the Dragonborn. There was no other explanation for that.

Faster than lightning, Sinawen jumped up from her chair, took it in her hands and swung it around, making the other Altmer back away in defense. Raising her hands, she made herself invisible and rushed to the door. Only one of her enemies managed to block her way. She took a dagger out of her shoe, stabbing it right into his heart. Kicking him out of her way, she busted the shabby door with a firebolt and darted through the village, her figure slowly regaining its shape.

"Don't let her escape!" she heard Arethil scream from inside the inn. Four elves were behind her, two mages, an archer and a fighter with a mace. She gasped when an arrow missed her left hand by an inch and stuck in the ground before her. A frostbite spell slowed her down, allowing the fighter to catch up with her. He caught her robes and pulled hard, making her fall down on her back. She kicked him in the shins, knocking him over, and suddenly they found themselves rolling down from the slope in a messy bundle of limbs and bodies. Sinawen jabbed her feet against the ground, stopping just a few feet from the precipice which fell steeply deep down into the river. Breathing heavily, she barely managed to roll over to avoid being hit by her opponent's mace. She kicked again from the ground, this time hitting his stomach. He gasped and she used this moment to draw her sword. Swiftly, she aimed for the weak spot of his elven armor, the right underarm. He dropped his mace as the sharp pain spread through his limb, a stream of his blood dying Sinawen's gilded sword in red. One more swing and he found himself standing at the edge of the slope. A shower of icebolts came down on Sinawen as she pushed him over.

Ignoring his screams and the splashing sound that followed, she quickly cast another invisibility spell. Barely being able to move, she dodged another shower of icebolts and two arrows which came flying in a breathtaking speed by a mere hair. A ward spell came out of her left hand the moment the invisibility spell ceased. She quickly moved backwards to the bridge on her left, keeping the ward between her and her enemies. Stepping on the bridge, she turned invisible again.

"After her!" Arethil commanded, pointing at the bridge. Carefully, she took a few steps back to the land and stepped aside as the elves rushed across the bridge to the pine grove which grew on the other side of the river. Holding her breath, she walked slowly back to the town, hiding behind the Lumber Camp wheel. Another invisibility spell cast, she forded the inflow river to her right and found herself standing on a levelled ground with stumps scattered about. To her left, Karth River was descending steeply toward her in a series of waterfalls. Repeating the invisibility spell over and over again, she slowly made her way along it, entering a harsh rocky terrain leading uphill. Several wolves attacked her on the way and she made a quick work of them, her body shaking with exhaustion and shock from her recent experience. So this was the end of her. She would not be able to approach the Thalmor anymore. Nor could she approach the Dragonborn for that matter.

She sighed. She felt small and insignificant. That man could have easily found another accomplice, it was just a lucky coincidence that he had run into her and decided to make her his so-called right hand. And he will find another one because he does not need her anymore. Then he will seek her and kill her because she knows too much, and the woman who just sacrificed herself to distract Arethil and save her did all that in vain. It hurt. It hurt more than the stabs of the icebolts which had pierced her skin in the fight before, more than any injury she had ever suffered. Her heart hurt, pulsing painfully, placing a solid lump in her throat. She reached a pool between two waterfalls, swam to the other side of the river and knelt down by its bank. Hot tears mixed with the cold water dripping from her clothes and hair. Sobbing quietly, she hugged her knees and curled up into a small wet bundle.

A few hours had passed during which the sun had made its way beyond the horizon and the night had enshrouded the land in shadows, when she heard a voice behind her.

"I could kill you with a single swing of my sword if I wished so, little weeping Thalmor, but surely the likes of those lofty spike-ears don't run crying in the wilds unless they get betrayed… or betray. I must confess, though, that I find the sight of a weeping Thalmor fairly amusing."

She jumped up and turned around swiftly, her face a grimace showing a mixture of pain and anger. A tall and well-built man stood before her, his mahogany-colored hair tied at the back of his head in a messy ponytail. He had a wide face with tattoos whose shape and color she could not distinguish well in the darkness of the night, and wore a set of pelts decorated with sabre cat teeth and black feathers. There was no doubt he was a Forsworn, looking like a savage that he was.

"You would gain nothing by killing me since my purpose has just ended," she said wearily, shivering as she realized for the first time how cold she was.

"And so you ran. Then you are like us, a forsaken one with nowhere to go."

"No," she whispered. "I am not like you. I am a traitor to my own kind, and a traitor to my enemies as well. There is no place for me, not even among you."

"And would the traitor care to share her tale?"

"The traitor will think upon it."

Minutes had passed and then hours when Sinawen started talking. She talked slowly, musing on the things she had done and gone through. She had been merciless and arrogant, blinded by the painful love that would never be reciprocated, disgusted with the world she had been born into, a world full of striving for power. She too had been dragged into it, having to fight her way through her life, which had been but painful and full of struggles. She felt hatred for everything and everyone, and a great deal of regret whose source was unknown to her. Tears slid down her cheeks, making the pain slowly fade into a dull feeling of resignation.

He was watching her the whole time, letting her speak and waiting patiently. There was a silence when she had ended, disrupted only by an occasional sigh. Then he spoke.

"Your story is indeed a painful one. But you did not share everything. Just who is that enemy of yours whom you sent to meet her end? Does it hurt to tell, now that you have nowhere to go?"

"Would you believe me?" she asked quietly.

"Is there a reason for you to lie?" A simple question. He was right.

"The Dragonborn."

He jerked, his eyes widening a little at the sudden confession.

Taking a deep breath, he whispered: "What can you tell me about the Dragonborn? Where is she now?"

"She is leading a rebellion," Sinawen snorted. "She really has no sense of…"

She was cut off as he grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently.

"A rebellion? Where? When?!"

She stared at him in surprise, startled by the sudden urgency in his voice.

"Her army was supposed to attack Windhelm two days from now… oh, maybe just a day," she corrected, shooting a quick glance at the sky. "Although there have been some complications so there might be a delay."

"So she has finally made her move," he said slowly, his hands still resting on her shoulders. "Then it is time to make ours."

He pulled back and turned around, heading for the rocky slope which rose steeply from the riverbank. Somewhere up that mountain among the fresh smelling pine trees and heather bushes would be his camp. Sinawen knew for her destination had been this very summit.

"Farewell, weeping Thalmor," he uttered at last. "May you find your place again. Next time we meet, it might be on battlefield."

"Wait!" she called to him and took a few steps in his direction. He turned his head slightly to let her know he was listening rather than look at her.

"Can I… can I join you? Whatever your plan is, can I join you?"

"You are a traitor," he said. "You would become a burden and betray us. We will remember, however, the favor you have done us, and maybe, if our roads cross again and good winds blow upon us, then we won't have to cross swords. Farewell."

And with that, he left her to her thoughts, a lonely elf lost in the vastness of this cruel world.

* * *

Legate Marcus wore a grim expression, staring at one corner of his tent absent-mindedly, twiddling his thumbs slowly. It was bad enough to stand against an army of elves who had better equipment, controlled powerful magic and outnumbered his troops greatly, but to battle an army of dragons and Alduin himself sounded like pure madness. There was only one Dragonborn on his side, preparing to leave him to his own resources on top of that. He was a sturdy warrior who had won many battles before, outwitted his enemies with his brains and crushed them with his warhammer. He knew the flow of battle, he knew the strategy and had a few skilled strategists by his side. He also knew how important it was to keep up the morale of his men if he was ever to win the war. But how in Oblivion could he manage to do such a thing when his own morale was crumbling? The news the Dragonborn had brought were far worse than he could have ever expected.

He leaned over the table he was sitting at, looking Aislinn seated opposite of him in her golden eyes.

"I've made those of my men who have heard it take an oath of silence," he said to her. "You must not speak about this to anyone. The army's going to fall apart the moment they learn about it."

She nodded slowly.

"You seem calm about it," he noted, making it sound a bit like a rebuke. She snorted.

"I have known I have to face Alduin again for some time now. Nothing really changes for me. And when you go from one deadly enemy to another, travel through a land where anyone and everyone could be your enemy with just one thief to support you, and make fighting dragons and draugr deathlords your daily routine, you stop thinking about what would happen to you if you lost after a while."

"But your life is not the only thing on the line here. Do you not care about the rest?"

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Of course I do," she whispered. "But I find myself unable to move if I keep thinking about it. It's just… it's too painful…"

"I'm sorry," Marcus shook his head. "Please, forget what I've just said. Just save us. The whole world depends on you."

"You don't have to tell me twice," she said bitterly. _In fact, I've heard this one like thousand times already._

She rose and nodded at the Nord. "I think I should head back and make some preparations."

"Come see me before you go," he said. "I want to say goodbye."

"The plan is to come back, you know," Aislinn smiled at him.

He chuckled as she raised the curtain and left the tent.

She passed through the lively camp and entered her tent. Letting out a silent sigh, she took her backpack off her shoulders and started checking its contents. She never let it out of her sight as there were keys to most of the houses in Skyrim, not to mention books and scrolls which were not meant to be read by just anyone. They were there, still at the very bottom, hidden in the depths of a canvas bag. A spare set of clothes, just in case, even though she doubted she would ever use them as they couldn't be worn underneath her armor like the linen shirt and a pair of tights that she usually had on. Some potions and several soul gems that Marilis had forced her to take, even though she hated to use them. A great number of lockpicks since there was never enough of them. A few spare daggers and a set of enchanted rings and amulets for various occasions. That should be it. Her daedric armor lay ready on her bed, her swords, bow and quiver along it. She quickly changed into it and attached her weapons, daedric sword to the left, ebony one to the right, bow and arrows over her back. Taking her backpack and slinging it over her right shoulder, she marched out of her tent and looked for Karliah and Brynjolf.

Surprisingly, she found them nearby, whispering to each other and chuckling as they pointed to an unknown target. Aislinn put her backpack back in her tent, keeping it in her sight, and moved to a nearby tree. She crept from there, using another tent as her cover. She was now fifteen feet away, the closest she could get, but barely heard their voices. Their target, however, was now clearly visible from her spot. It was Marilis.

She raised her eyebrows and wondered what it could be that they wanted to steal from him. It was a bet so it could be anything, but knowing those two, it had to be some kind of challenge. She studied him, his purple robes, every pocket he could have there, the wide sleeves, the numerous folds and wrinkles. There were so many places where he could hide something. She noticed a hidden dagger attached to his left side. There were several chains and amulets hidden in his sleeves and clearly something in his boots – but who wouldn't have something in their boots. And then she saw it. A small irregularity on his right side beneath the folds. It looked like a pouch with a number of regular objects in it. Gems. She knew at once that this was the target. Smiling, she crept back to her tent, took her backpack and then called to her thief partners.

"Hiya, lass!" Brynjolf saluted. "Everything ready?"

"Almost," she said with a smile. "I've got a few more errands to run. Do you think you can hold onto my stuff for a while?"

Brynjolf nodded and took her backpack from her hands. "Don't take too long," he urged. "The night's going to fall soon and we should be on our way as soon as it gets dark."

"I know," she said, the smile fading from her face. "I'll make it quick."

She rushed back to Marcus's tent and they exchanged a quick farewell. He gave her a few flasks of different shapes and colors and added an instruction note.

"Poison," he explained. "Various kinds, actually. Soak your weapons and arrows in them and your enemies will fall in dozens. I prefer a fair fight myself," he patted the head of his hammer, "but knowing the strength of your enemies, I suppose you'll welcome any kind of advantage you can get."

She nodded in gratitude and soon found herself pacing towards Marilis's tent. The Dunmer mage seemed busy enchanting a number of armors and weapons but greeted her heartily as she approached him.

"You seem a little uneasy," he said, his fiery eyes piercing her.

"I was told the polar opposite a while ago," she snorted.

"The person who told you must have been blind," he smiled. "I can see it in your face. And your body is speaking for itself."

Aislinn looked down at her body inadvertently, gaining a chuckle from the dark elf.

"I will miss you," he said with a serious face. She blushed a little and averted her eyes.

"Marilis, I…"

"It's the thief, isn't it?" he interrupted her. She looked at him, perplexed.

"You like him," he continued, gaining a disconcerted stare from her. "I can see it quite clearly. That is your choice. But don't worry. I can be very patient." He ran his fingers over her face, touching her gently.

She shivered. This did not seem right. She wasn't sure of the reason but there was this feeling at the back of her head warning her from going any further. Still, he had been the first one to understand her, spelling out her feelings without her having to explain. She felt torn apart, as if the ground under her feet was crumbling. Yet she knew she couldn't love this man. It didn't feel right.

"I am sorry," she said, moving a bit closer and reaching out her hand in an apologetic gesture. "But you will always be a dear friend to me."

"I can live with that. For now," he said in a mysterious voice.

"I think it's time for me to go." She could hear her voice tremble as she spoke. He nodded in silence, still smiling.

She turned around without another word and headed to the place where Brynjolf and Karliah were waiting. She felt a little numb, her stomach tumbling, almost urging her to throw up. She would have never expected a little love affair to do this to her… but then again, there had been people in much worse condition because of love. Just how much this simple feeling can do to a person?

Straying away from the topic in her thoughts, she groped about a crevice in her armor, taking out a small pouch.

 _This has been the sloppiest theft in my life,_ she scolded herself and shook her head violently, causing several soldiers along the way to stare at her. Her stomach tumbled again and she wondered if she had become so weak that a few stares could make her lose control.

Carefully, she opened the pouch and took a deep breath, excited at the thought of beautiful shining gems shimmering merrily in the setting sun. And then she looked inside and her face went paler than a Falmer's skin.

There were no gems inside. Instead, a number of white, almost transparent stones filled the pouch, literally sending shivers through her body. Her eyes widened in horror.

"Vaermina damn us all, please, tell me that I'm dreaming."

Those were the last words before her legs gave way and she felt her body hit the ground. She noticed white mist spreading around her and heard a number of distant screams before darkness took her.

* * *

 _Oblivion take me, this was one of the hardest chapters to write, if not the hardest. I am still not quite confident about it but somehow... I hope the message got through to you. To be honest, I did not even plan on making Sinawen such a complicated character, but she somehow turned out to be one. Dunno what to do with it when the story just turns that way._

 _Also, maybe you have guessed already, but... yep, I have a thing for eyes and hair. Since I always remember people by eye and hair color and these are the first things I notice, I tend to focus on these when describing a person. Heh._

 _Speaking of which, I mentioned in the story that Brynjolf had turquoise eyes. Seriously, he has different eye color in every picture and on every screen so I just picked the one I like the best. I've seen him with blue eyes, as well as green ones, but it's turquoise for me. :D_

 _As always, thanks for the likes, reviews and follows. And please, do review if you can. You will make one Mirwen very happy. :)_


	16. The True Self

**Chapter 16: The True Self**

Brynjolf sat down on the ground and crossed his legs, placing Aislinn's backpack beside him, and Karliah joined him. The lass had gone off and Marilis, their Dunmer target, had disappeared, probably to his tent. Around them was a number of other tents and a few birch trees, and soldiers in Imperial armors scattered about. Most of the camp were on their feet since they were expecting supplies to arrive any minute and legate Marcus had urged everyone to be extra cautious on such occasions. Still, if a dragon had decided to attack the camp, Brynjolf doubted anything could be done until Aislinn managed to catch the beast. He had to admire the brave legate who did not give in to his fears despite knowing what he stood up against.

"I'm glad I'll be leaving soon," he sighed. "I don't like wars and battles, really."

"I'm not keen on them either," Karliah replied with a nod. "We're thieves and thieves don't belong on battlefield. Even our boss seems a little uneasy with all this battling going on, and having her name chanted all the time on top of that."

"It's been so long since I last did a real theft. And the blasted mage is always so careful. Seriously, even though I don't deal with mages that much, this is the first time I've seen a mage being this cautious."

"Well, he does look secretive. But I get the feeling he's extra cautious around you," Karliah chuckled. "And I'd say it's no surprise. Besides, you only want to rob him because you're jealous of him." She winked at him cunningly.

Brynjolf snorted. "And what's your reason then?" he asked dryly.

"Fun. Challenge. You name it," she laughed. "It reminds a little me of that one time we went on a mission with Gallus and he pretended to be a mage to infiltrate one group. In the end, he made a bet with one of them that he would be able to create a better illusion. He ended up giving him some love potion he didn't even remember obtaining and the mage kept following him for the rest of the day. Still, he managed to rob him since the guy was so blinded he wouldn't even notice a horse trampling on his foot if there was one. That said," she looked at Brynjolf teasingly, "our boss might actually have the best chance to rob the guy."

"Bah."

Another chuckle escaped Karliah's lips. "I do believe she's suspecting something, you know."

"She probably knows," Brynjolf mused. "But it doesn't matter anyway. She'd have to do it today before we leave."

"Oh," Karliah drawled in acknowledgement, looking now thoroughly entertained as she shot a glance at the road to her right. Two hundred feet from the place she was sitting at, Aislinn was approaching, a small pouch resting in her hands. She had a curious smile when she opened it. "Speak of the Daedra. Now that's our boss for you."

Brynjolf jumped on his feet and was about to call out to the lass but he stopped halfway, furrowing his brows as he studied his boss.

"What's wrong with her?" he asked apprehensively.

"I don't…" Karliah didn't finish her sentence. Her eyes widened as Aislinn's face suddenly lost all traces of color and she tottered, murmuring some inaudible words. Then she fell on the ground, dropping the pouch and revealing a set of white stones inside. Several of them cracked at the impact and thick white mist spread around.

"Lass!" she heard Brynjolf scream in horror. "The damnation of Nocturnal!" He sheathed his sword and hurried to Aislinn, and Karliah quickly followed.

"Dragonborn!" several soldiers around shrieked and the camp was in uproar in an instant.

"What happened?!" one of them shouted.

"I don't know!" another voice echoed through the camp.

"It's the rotstone!"

"Are we being attacked?!"

"I don't know!"

"I can't see anything!"

"Neither can I so shut up!"

"That was my foot, you idiot!"

"Then don't stand there like a fool, move it!"

Brynjolf pushed his way through, his mind set on a single goal – get the lass out of there as soon as possible. He wasn't sure what the rotstone would do to her if she stayed under its influence for too long. However, there was one thing he _was_ sure about. Marilis was a traitor and Aislinn was in danger as long as he was on the loose.

Finally he reached her. She was there, lying unconscious on the ground, the paleness of her skin emphasized by the white mist which was almost impenetrable here since so many stones kept feeding it. Her limbs were spread around her in a disorderly manner and her hair covered her face which was bleeding slightly from left cheek which had hit a rock on the ground, her blood mixing with the soil.

He reached out for her when a magical impact threw him several feet back.

"What a rotten luck, Namira curse it," he heard a Dunmer voice nearby. It was calm and quiet and yet he could hear it over the shouts and screams around. "You blasted thieves were never a good sign," Marilis sighed. "This was not supposed to happen, I seriously did not plan on fighting in the middle of an enemy camp. But since it is inevitable… at least I can escort the Dragonborn myself now and I will make sure that I thoroughly enjoy my time with her." He drawled the last words, as though they were meant for Brynjolf especially.

The thief winced in terror. He noticed a robed figure reaching out to Aislinn and picking her body up.

"Son of a bitch!" he hissed and darted towards the mage.

"As a matter of fact, my mother was a refined lady of House Redoran," Marilis uttered dispassionately. He was cut off suddenly when Karliah attacked him fiercely, a poisoned dagger in each hand.

"Now now, you're not playing fair," he drawled as he activated a ward spell and parried her onslaught. "Time to say goodbye, my little thieves. Don't worry. You might see your beloved Dragonborn soon enough. Or whatever remains of her."

The mist thickened around the elf, shrouding a trail of silver dust which opened before him. Brynjolf and Karliah ran after him as fast as they could but the silver trail vanished as soon as he stepped on it, leaving the two of them hopelessly behind. Furiously, Brynjolf pushed his way through the camp again, getting ahead of Karliah, and galloped to the provisional stables, locating Shadowmere who stood aloof from the other horses, watching them fill their muzzles with hay. The black horse stepped aside as he tried to mount him, giving him a contemptuous snore.

"Come on, lad," he urged. "This is no time to act picky, just let me on."

The horse gave him a sour look and backed away, huffing in a threatening tone. Brynjolf glowered at him and spoke, his voice just as threatening.

"You listen to me now, _friend_. Your master is in serious trouble and if you don't help me this instant, she might get killed or… maybe something worse. I don't suppose that's what you want."

Shadowmere's eyes narrowed but he stilled himself, shifting his weight as the thief approached him. Brynjolf pulled himself up to the saddle and took the reins in his hands. Then a cold shiver ran down his spine as he realized that he had no idea which way the Dunmer mage was heading.

"Do you…" he stuttered shakily. "Do you know where she is? Can you sense her?"

The stallion twitched his ears. Brynjolf wasn't sure what that meant but he wasn't left with much choice.

"Go. Just bring me to her. Please."

A cloud of dust rose around his hoofs as the black horse with crimson eyes which pierced the darkness that had spread through the land darted into the distance.

* * *

 _Dovakhiin, wake up,_ a voice echoed through Aislinn's mind. It was different from the voices she was used to hearing. This one was full of harmony, calm and reserved, chasing away her anxiety and the fear she had been slowly getting accustomed to. _Remember what you are. Do not let yourself be tempted by the lost souls inside you. Power does not equal force or aggression._

She gasped and moaned silently as she opened her eyes, sharp pain shooting through her whole body. She could not move save for her eyes and it took all her strength to make them roam and study everything and anything in their sight. There wasn't much, just a few pine branches and grey, cloudy sky. She could hear a falcon cry nearby and there was the humming sound of river rapids. Judging from the sound, the river must have been quite far from the place she was lying at.

"Awake, at last," she heard a honeyed voice nearby and that was when she realized that a hand had been sliding her cheeks softly. She shivered and wanted to cry out but no sound came out of her mouth. A flood of memories flashed through her mind, almost taking her breath away.

She was in the camp, talking to Marilis. He made a move on her and she declined him, using the moment to sneakily steal his pouch. She wanted to surprise Brynjolf and Karliah… but she wasn't expecting to find rotstones inside. It was too late, she was too weak to do anything. Her two companions had probably spotted her. There were screams and noises, mixing, blending into an incomprehensible murmur and then fading. She had wanted to cry out but her strength had left her. "The mage is a traitor!" she had wanted to scream. Now they knew but it was too late.

He was sitting calmly beside her, rubbing her cheeks as he pleased, and that could only mean they had left the camp far behind. His hand was now moving to her chin and then her neck, brushing her skin tenderly.

 _"Don't worry. I can be very patient."_

If this was his idea of being patient, then she did not want to know what would happen if he actually became impatient. She looked the way his voice had come from with disgust, staring as if her eyes could repel him, brush the repugnant hand of his aside.

"Oh, don't be so mad, my dear Dragonborn," he said quietly. "It was only a matter of time before you got caught anyway, but you're in good hands now. Believe me, the Hunter's no fun. But I can take things nice and slow."

His words made her stomach tumble. Just what was he planning to do to her? She was scared, holding her breath in anticipation of something terrible.

He leaned to her and she could smell his breath on her face, his long white hair creating a soft veil around them. His fiery eyes were gazing into hers with lust, piercing her, stunning her mind and making her heart stop. His lips formed into a smug smile, twitching and curling at her frightened face. A lump settled in her throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. She wanted to turn her head, push him away, kick him, do anything to get out of his reach. Shivers ran down her spine as she felt his fingers on her left arm, touching and caressing, sliding and pressing gently, and suddenly she realized that her armor was gone. She was feeling small and vulnerable and it was driving her insane. Despite not being able to move, she could feel every inch of her body now, painfully aware of how much of it was exposed. Her sleeves were torn and the shirt itself was very loose, making it easy for him to slide his hand under it if he ever felt like it. Her tights were there but they would make no difference, the way they revealed the exact shape of her legs and her hips. She closed her eyes, silently praying to every deity she knew, trying to distance herself from the sweet and yet too painful sensation of his dark fingers running over her body.

Then his lips touched hers ever so slightly, slowly but steadily sliding to one side of her mouth and then to the other, leaving an imperceptible wet trace. And then again. The third time they applied light pressure against her before pulling back and leaving her frozen in terror. If she could just scream, let the fear and anxiety burst out and dissolve in the air. But she was not even allowed to do that. There was warmth in her eyes and then a pair of tears reminiscent of tiny pearls rolled down her temples. She could hear his soft laugh, her body trembled and felt like imploding and bursting into pieces at the same time.

"You are so beautiful when you cry," he whispered to her ears, his lips now playing with her hair, tickling the skin on her face. "Those dragon-like golden eyes of yours shedding tears… there is so much power in them and yet, such weakness is shown when they weep. I can see the struggle in your heart. It's like two armies fighting each other inside you, pulling you back and forth in their game of tug-of-war, making you feel so lost and insignificant. But do not worry. Although I am thoroughly enjoying this, you will soon be freed of this burden."

She tried to take a deep breath and make herself think straight. She hated how he was right. There was a struggle inside her, driving her into sheer madness as the voices in her mind whispered to her, tempting and beckoning. There was a whole new world on the other side, a world of power and dominance where she could crush anyone who would dare hurt her. _Crush them, break them, devour them!_

 _Dovakhiin,_ the calm voice sounded in her head again. She concentrated on it, shutting herself inside of her mind, forcing the pain and anxiety away. She searched and scrabbled about her mind, calling forth innumerable memories, letting them enshroud her and engulf her completely. Memories of flying freely on the currents of the wind which she did not even remember having, memories of glorious victories and joyful battle cries, memories of singing and playing games with two sweet girls who always greeted her with sparkles in their eyes… and the image of a red-haired thief with turquoise eyes and gentle smile, and a voice so deep and crispy it made her shiver every time the word "lass" was articulated.

 _"You shouldn't trust people... especially not the thief you're traveling with."_

No…

 _Dovakhiin!_

She knew betrayal. Everyone seemed ready to betray her the moment they would gain something from it… except for him. He would never do that. He cared for her… he had to care for her.

More than anything, she wanted to see him, cuddle in his arms and lean to his chest. Why had she been so stubborn and never let him know how she felt, allowing a complete stranger to get so close to her instead? She had doubted him, questioned his strength and loyalty every time he had given her that look of his. _I don't buy that._ Or when he had tried to stop her from doing whatever she had been about to do. But of course he would. This was not about his strength, he must have been worried about her. And maybe he was right. She was rash and careless and got into every kind of trouble she could. Was he angry now? Was he looking for her?

She decided that he was and locked her mind on that thought, embracing it with all her might. He had to be searching for her. He just had to.

 _I will not lose,_ she thought stoutly. _This is my life and my world and I will not lose. The suffering will end eventually. It must end._

With that, she opened her eyes again. Shock struck her when she realized her Dunmer captor was now trying to tease her ear earlobes with his tongue, applying pressure, then biting. But he was trembling, being too fierce and trying too hard. She could feel his shallow breath and shaking hands, the uneasiness which made him lose his cool. He was angry and disconcerted, startled at the sudden stillness of her body. So this is how it worked. As long as she did not show a reaction, he would get distracted.

But then she shivered as she felt a soft tickle on her neck, sending vibes through her limbs and body, numbing her mind and freezing her heart.

 _I will not lose,_ she reminded herself sternly. Even so, she was not sure how long she would be able to endure this. She forced the image of the red-haired thief to appear in front of her and concentrated on it.

 _Brynjolf,_ she thought desperately. _Come quickly._

* * *

It was cold. This time, she was standing on an ice floe, the harsh freezing wind slowly getting under her skin. The floe was small, barely allowing her to stand on it. She would not be able to sit, not to mention lie down, the tiny space forcing her to concentrate on balancing so she would not fall down to the endless depths of the sea below and drown to her death. Wherever she set her gaze, there was nothing but freezing water, its surface dark and murky as there was barely any light, just light grey mist shrouding her whole world and slowly covering her face with frost. She wondered just how many cruel worlds there could be. Has she seen each and every one already, or were there countless ways to make her suffer, even without the help of a man?

This was the strange things about her dreams. She had never met a single person, not even a creature she could communicate with. It was strangely disturbing, filling her with infinite loneliness as her only companion during the whole time she had spent in prison had been brother Martin. And this world too was plain, lonely, deserted. There was not a single bird, not a fish in the sea, and even if some creature did appear, its eyes would be empty, a pair of soulless hollows trying to pierce her and petrify her.

As if her imagination tried to take a form of its own, she suddenly spotted a movement in the water. It had to be something huge. She knew already she would not be able to tell its shape and nature anyway. It was the Void, or its messenger, trying to capture and swallow her, showing her how meaningless her struggles were, how meaningless the life she had been living had proven. She closed her eyes, awaiting the terror that was certain to come.

 _"You ran away again, my child,"_ she heard the memory of Martin's voice whisper in her mind. Just how many times had she been told this? But she had not been given a choice. It was always the same and there would not be anything she could hold onto in order to overcome this situation.

Or would it?

Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes again. The small ice block under her feet was swaying back and forth and it took all her strength to keep standing. The cold was making her whole body numb, the chills spreading through her flesh, grasping every bone and tendon, making her slip and fall. She grabbed the edge of the floe and desperately held onto it. And then the creature splashed and roared, a wave came flushing and washed her away.

A mass of freezing cold water overran her, pulling her down, away from the air. She was drowning, dying slowly… as she would anyway.

 _"You ran away again, my child."_

 _No… I'm not running away…_

 _"I have come here for a purpose. The savior of Skyrim has chosen you. You are needed…"_

 _Mama…_

But how could she help her? What kind of help would her mama need that she would not be able to obtain any other way? She called forth the memory of her, focusing on that proud strong woman with firm hands and gentle voice, on her golden eyes which always shone brightly, on her face which seemed so distant… and lonely. Just as lonely as Lucia was now, but her mama would never give up. She would never run away, of that the little girl was certain. She would always find a way…

The creature was closing the distance between them rapidly and Lucia prayed. The water around her was bubbling and swirling, making her lose sight of it for a moment, and then it was there, its huge body twirling around her. She reached out for it and it embraced her, carrying her to the surface. Cold air suddenly bit her face and she gasped as it flooded her lungs. She took a deep breath and felt a refreshing wave of energy run down her body. The creature was getting ready to dive again and Lucia quickly let go, fighting against the whirlpool around it which threatened to sweep her away.

She swam and swam again, slowly but surely getting out of its grasp, only to struggle against her own body growing weak and exhausted. She ignored it, her hands reached out and paddled the water, one stroke after another, again, again and again. Her feet went numb, the cold spreading through her legs to the belly, her chest and then along her arms, reaching the tips of her fingers, when she finally noticed a solid ground under her feet. She crawled on all four to the sandy beach which rose before her, gasping for air. She felt like laughing hysterically at her sloppy, but nevertheless victorious performance.

Then, a golden light illuminated her frame and she raised her head to look at the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. It was a dragon but it looked more like a phoenix from the old tales that her mama used to tell her. It shone with the purest gold, spreading its fiery wings, exhibiting its gorgeous trunk and mighty talons, and eyes like two blood-colored rubies were gazing at Lucia with depth which transcended time and space. She suddenly felt very small, looking bashfully at the astonishing creature, but somehow she knew that it was real. If this world was something that her mind had created and finally overcome, then the being that stood before her was not a part of it. And yet, she knew that it had always belonged there, right at this place, and it had been waiting for her.

"You… you are…" she whispered, her body trembling slightly.

"I am brother Martin," he spoke calmly, "but I am sure you already know that by now."

"You are a dragon."

"Of course I am, and so is your mother. But I am also a human. And so is your mother." There was a slight change in the dragon's posture and Lucia could feel he was smiling at her. "You have done it. You have learned how to overcome your weakness and accepted your humanity. You must never forget this for that which I am going to teach you now is one of the most dangerous things for a mortal. I will give you some of my own strength, something which froze in the Time along with me and waited for the right person. It might bring you closer to your mother and to understanding the endless cycle of this world. But it will change you forever."

"And… what is it that you're going to give me, exactly?" Lucia inquired, biting her lip nervously as she slowly got up on her feet and took a few insecure steps forward.

The dragon lowered his head on the same level as Lucia's and the shining rubies were now gazing at her face, casting a crimson glint upon it. He spoke in a quiet voice but it resonated in Lucia's head as the words left his neb.

"I will give you the Blood of Septims."

* * *

 _Huh. Really, I can't believe what I just produced. At one time I was thinking of scrapping this whole chapter and rewriting it but I decided against it since I would have ended up writing the exact same thing, maybe using different words, anyway. You see, Marilis was designed as a nasty wicked man, evil to the core, right from the beginning, but I do have a problem expressing certain... things, and I think this chapter just got the better of me. Meaning I completely lost control over it and it just... wrote itself. :D Still, there's a reason why Marilis is so awfully twisted and surprisingly, it's not because he's in love with Aislinn. Well, I did give you a tiny lead in the previous chapters but I think most of you missed it. You'll know in time._

 _I hope I did not disgust you now and that you will keep on reading the story. (Oops, it's here again... inferiority complex, go flush yourself in the toilet, please.)_

 _Also, you might have noticed that I changed the description. I kind of found the previous one unfitting so I rewrote it. But don't worry, nothing has changed in the story._

 _Thanks for staying with it. I'll be infinitely grateful for any reviews, likes and follows. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	17. The Wild Chase

**Chapter 17: The Wild Chase**

The land was slowly turning a pale shade of violet as the sunlight shone dimly over the eastern horizon when Brynjolf decided to stop and have a quick meal. He was dead tired, having spent all night on horseback, furiously urging Shadowmere into a wild gallop. The black stallion seemed unaffected by the insane pace but even he could not manage to keep up with the treacherous Dunmer who appeared more than blessed by the daedric magic.

 _Curse the Daedras,_ Brynjolf cussed in his thoughts. But the more he thought about it, the more he had to blame himself. If only he had not proposed the theft. If only the lass had not wanted to beat him and Karliah to it. This competitiveness went with being the boss of the Thieves Guild, of course, and Nocturnal would always welcome it, that he was sure of. But what can the Dark Lady do against the power of the Dunmeri Pantheon? Surely Marilis did not worship just one of them, he was simply too powerful for that.

He sighed and found a nice boulder to sit on, watching the White River meander the land in a series of rapids, swirling around the scattered rocks and washing over them, covering them with white caps of ruffled foam. He could see Dragonsreach from his place, a proud two-winged fortress dominating the land, competing with the surrounding mountains in beauty and might, with its Great Porch opening to the plains that lay down the path he would soon ride. The land seemed withered around here, a few pine trees presenting all the green in the area. Apart from those, he could only see a few dead oak trees and low bushes with unhealthy looking yellow leaves which crumbled apart when he picked them up.

He pulled an apple out of his backpack and looked at it with distaste. Although he felt exhausted and weak, his stomach was tumbling and he could barely bring himself to take one bite. Never in his life had he felt so scared and hopeless and if somebody had told him two years ago that he would feel like this, he would have laughed them off hard. He who had never had a family, maybe except for a few friendly Guild members, he who had learnt to survive in the dirt and shadows, robbing people of all the extra stuff they surely did not need for their living, would never feel attached to anything and anyone. But how mistaken had he been. She had struck him the very first time they had met, in the awful grey city of Riften, a young woman with short hair and determined look, so different from everyone else roaming the city. She had seemed so honorable, yet not afraid to do a dirty job if it was necessary to gain results. Her pockets had been empty but somehow she had always managed to get a hold of anything she had wanted. She had seemed uninhibited, not bound to anything and anyone, and he had admired that about her.

 _"Running a little light in the pockets, lass?"_ he had asked her just to attract her attention. He would have never guessed that she would take the bait and actually do the job with that all too innocent look in those golden eyes of hers. Never mind it had taken her three tries until she had managed to steal the ring. Now he knew that she would never give up anything, even to the point when she would become stubborn and he had the urge to just tie her up and pull her out of whatever trouble she would find. Unrestrained, that was the word. She was definitely unrestrained. It drove him mad and attracted him at the same time, for he knew he would never be able to become such a person.

Unless someone dear to him was in danger, it seemed. He laughed at the irony of it, that the one who crushed all his ideas of him being a free guy without attachments became the one binding him and would also make him throw away his boundaries when it came to a desperate situation. He was ready to do anything to save her. All the dragons and the ever scorching fires of Oblivion could stand between them but he would never give up.

He could hear Shadowmere snort behind him and the sound of it made him turn around curiously. The horse was walking away from him, the countless fringes of his long dark tail waving at Brynjolf in the morning breeze. He frowned.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" he barked at him, jumping on his feet as he threw the apple core to the river behind. He darted the way the beast was heading. The path went uphill to a small grove of long-needled pine trees sprinkled by snow mildly, opening into a cozy levelled space enclosed with a tall rock which created a natural wall around it. In a small nook in the middle of it stood a pedestal and a statue of Talos loomed on top of it, a mighty figure in a winged helmet and scale armor with his sword raised, ready to pierce the giant serpent that crawled at his feet. An ornate symbol reminiscent of a dagger with double-edged axe in place of its guard stood on the platform on its right along with a pair of candleholders. The shrine was intact, obviously spared the recent Thalmor ravages for now. But he was in the Whiterun hold, after all, and the freedom of the Dominion members was quite restricted here.

He watched Shadowmere walk to the statue and noticed him sniffing behind it. Curiously he stepped on the rocky ground beneath the pedestal, leaned to the wall and looked behind the stone carving. There was a set of daedric armor behind it and a pair of blades. Brynjolf's stomach knotted when he realized what he was looking at. Carefully, he pulled the gear up, one piece after another, and placed them on the ground beside the pedestal. He studied the armor until he found what he was looking for – a number of patches and mends on the right arm, barely visible to an untrained eye.

"Well," he murmured uneasily, more to himself than to the stallion standing nearby, "at least we know they passed here. Just how far could they have gotten?"

Whether his crimson-eyed companion knew it or not, he was silent as ever, his only reaction being a slight shake of his head. Brynjolf sighed tensely, his eyes fixed on the armor. The lass had no protection and it would be best to have her armor ready when he saved her… _if_ he saved her, and that thought made his stomach turn. But how was he supposed to carry all that stuff? It certainly did not fit in his backpack. He furrowed his brows. The light ebony-scaled armor he had obtained from Endon and kept ever since seemed easy to fit into it but that would mean he would have to wear a set of heavy armor himself. He was not pleased with the thought but after a while of weighing all the pros and cons, he decided that the security of the lass was the top priority and took off his current outfit. It took him a while to put the red-creviced harness on and he felt a little odd when he tried walking in it.

"Just how can the lass wear this and move around in it so easily?" he whined to Shadowmere, who, at that moment, looked purely amused, his ears twitching merrily.

"And you don't give me that," he smirked at the horse dryly. "I'll make sure I have a daedric attire made especially for you when this is all over. And you're going to wear it every day. And I'll get five kegs of Black-Briar Reserve if you can't keep it up for a month."

Shadowmere snorted at him sourly and shot him a glance which could not be described by words.

 _Try it and you're going to have to answer to Sithis himself,_ it said. Brynjolf shuddered a little but refused to withdraw.

"You're such a pony," he teased his steed.

The stallion seemed ready to dart towards him and do something unthinkably awful but the thief raised his hand in a warning gesture and shook his head.

"The lass is still out there and I believe that out of us two I am the one with the better chances of saving her, like it or not," he said cunningly. He gained a nettled snort but the horse ceased his threats.

"That's a good lad," Brynjolf nodded. Then his expression turned serious and he gave Shadowmere an exhausted look.

"I am going to sleep for a while," he announced wearily. "Wake me up in three hours. We can't waste any more than that."

The horse twitched his ears in comprehension and shifted his weight. Brynjolf attached Aislinn's blades to his sides and headed uphill to a group of withered bushes which looked like they would provide at least some degree of cover for him. Too tired to set up a proper camp, he carelessly dumped his baggage on the ground and used it as a pillow. Sleep took him immediately, bringing a lot of disturbing dreams filled with fear and anxiety. He tossed and turned restlessly, and when Shadowmere's muzzle finally nudged him awake, he did not feel rested at all.

He forced himself into eating a few slices of bread with Eidar cheese and then drowsily climbed down the slope to refill his water supplies from the White River. If the Dunmer was headed northwest, it meant that he would have to be ready to enter the inhospitable plains of Whiterun and then cross the mountain ridge which separated them from Hjaalmarch. The first source of water would be the Hjaal River which was a few hundreds of miles away. And although Shadowmere was amazingly fast, he doubted they would get there sooner than in three days, and the weather would have to be perfect for that. He felt a clutch of pain in his heart when he thought about the lass being carried away from him, into an unknown danger.

 _"I'm starting to think that the one leading the Thalmor might be Alduin himself."_

A cold shiver ran down his spine as he remembered the words. What would they do to her? She had seemed to know something but had not found time to share it with him. What would the World-Eater want her for? The thought made him feel sick, paralyzed, and he quickly brushed it aside. Whatever it was, it was not going to be pleasant, that he was sure of. He plunged his face into the cold water of the White River and let it wash away his exhaustion. Then he climbed back to the road, quickly checked the contents of his backpack and mounted Shadowmere who was waiting for him, standing at attention and ready for the take-off. He darted out the moment Brynjolf settled on him and the fast and furious ride through the wilderness continued.

With the exception of two shorter breaks and a few hours of sleep, they galloped non-stop through the wild plains and up the mountains. Shadowmere did not bother taking roads and ran through the rough terrain, skillfully hopping over boulders and puddles of mud. They met a pair of giants in the plains but the creatures would be too slow to catch up to Brynjolf, even if he ran in the daedric armor, let alone his black steed for whom there was no substitute in this world, and so they managed to proceed without resorting to fighting. The weather worked in their favor, casting just a light haze of clouds over the sun so the heat would not get to them. Even the breeze seemed to blow their way, as if it supported them from behind. They reached the mountains sooner than Brynjolf had expected, but the next day the Divines seemed to compensate for it.

As they started climbing, a wild snowstorm struck the land and made the thief bend his back in defense against the rough wind which kept swooshing around and filling his sight with a veil of snowflakes, making him almost completely blind to his surroundings. He soon had to dismount the black horse and continue on foot. With his right hand put on the hilt of Aislinn's daedric sword as a precaution, he paced heavily through the rifts. Luckily, Shadowmere kept guiding him through the treacherous mountain paths, finding unexpected shortcuts while avoiding dead ends and hidden traps.

Later in the afternoon, the storm had subsided into a mild snowfall, its roar ceasing only to be replaced by a different type of roar. Brynjolf froze when he realized what it was.

Turning left, he spotted a large winged creature over the line of pine trees before him, its voice like a thunder, bouncing from one mountain peak to the other. The beast was rising steadily, casting a shadow over a massive structure below. Compared to the structure itself, the shadow seemed miniscule, insignificant. There lay the great ancient city of Labyrinthian with its mighty walls and countless posts and lookouts, spreading in the valley like wings of the dragons it had once belonged to. It was pale and covered with snow just as the rest of the land, and yet it seemed to shine brighter than anything else around. And then Brynjolf gasped because he realized that it was not just the city that was shining.

Myriads of colorful dragon scales arose from the jagged structures and filled the air, the sound of wings rustling and humming and the powerful voices resonating against the faces of the mountains. The thief went pale in his face. Not just one dragon. Not even two, or ten, but a whole army, a whole nation. The immemorial city of Bromjunaar would be reborn in all its might, the winged rulers of the skies presiding over it again.

Breathing heavily, he quickly mounted Shadowmere and heeled him to canter.

"Run, lad," he urged him, refusing to look at the terrifying sight again. "Run as fast as you can and don't you dare stop or we're dead meat."

He did not have to tell him twice. The stallion broke into a gallop so wild that Brynjolf would not have thought it possible. The land turned into a haze of blurry smears in shades of grey and dark green, swirling around as they ran. Several branches whipped the thief and for once he was glad that he wore the reliable daedric armor which protected him perfectly. He could still feel the cold wind and frosty snowflakes which landed in its crevices and sent chills down his body though, making his limbs go numb. Then he winced when he realized that the roar was not stopping. He glanced over his shoulder, registering one of the enormous creatures flying above him, circling over the land like a giant bird of prey.

 _This is not happening,_ Brynjolf thought desperately. _Lass, where in Oblivion are you when I need you? I can't fight a dragon by myself!_

But he had to and he knew it, if only to save the lass he was calling to at that moment. He stopped Shadowmere and quickly jumped to the ground, rolling away the moment a blinding pillar of flames scorched the very ground he had landed on a second before. Sudden heat ran over his body, melting his frozen limbs, and a dull pain spread through his flesh. He reached for his ebony bow and nocked a daedric arrow in it, waiting for the dragon to still itself. Shadowmere helped him achieve that by luring it to him but the thief cussed when bright flames licked the black horse and set him ablaze.

 _You cursed fool of a pony, Oblivion take you!_ he shouted in his thoughts. _How am I going to get to the damned Dunmer if you die on me here?_

He released two arrows, the first one hitting the beast's right flank, the other missing as the dragon yanked and dodged it. Its attention now turned fully to Brynjolf who darted out and ran in panic, barely avoiding getting hit by the scorching flames. He nocked another arrow and fired it blindly, praising Nocturnal when it hit a wing and tore through it with a ripping sound. The dragon faltered, its movements now jerky and uncertain. The thief realized then that the dragon was a good deal weaker than the one they had been fighting back in Eastmarch with the lass and it also lacked some of its elegance, and made a mental note to ask Aislinn about different kinds of dragons when he had the chance. _If_ he had the chance. He shot an enraged glance at the beast and decided that he would definitely see to it, when a series of ice bolts came flying and showered its head and neck. A painful roar tore through the air and the creature fell in a spiral, shaking the ground as it hit it. Brynjolf promptly nocked another arrow and finished it with his next shot. Then he looked the way the ice bolts came from and froze.

He remembered the Altmer woman who was standing atop of the rock which rose before him. Even ragged as she was now, she was still beautiful, her dark hair now unattended, flying loosely about her. There was a savage look in her eyes, one that had not been there before, but he still clearly recognized her. He frowned and nocked another arrow, firing it almost immediately. She jerked and quickly dodged it, sheer shock displaying in her face.

"Stop!" Sinawen shouted at him. "I'm not an enemy of yours!"

"Oh aye, I've heard that one before!" Brynjolf smirked and reached for another arrow. The elf disappeared before his eyes, leaving him blinking in surprise for a moment, but he quickly regained his composure and put the bow over his back. He unsheathed both of Aislinn's blades in one swift movement and readied himself, listening carefully to the sounds around him.

The footsteps stopped a few feet from him but he did not waste any time. He kicked where imprints of two leather boots had appeared in the snow and crossed the swords around the neck of his target at once. Her figure appeared once more, a slender body lying on the ground, weak and defenseless, trembling in defeat. He exhaled.

"Are you going to kill me now?" she asked calmly, a trace of pride still in her voice. There was something disturbing about it, something Brynjolf had not noticed the first time they had met. He knew for sure that this woman had changed but was not quite keen on discovering how much for himself.

"Why are you here?" he asked simply, his expression colorless, unreadable. She smiled at him slightly in a way that planted even more doubts in the thief's already confused mind.

"No particular reason," she said. "I could be just about anywhere in Skyrim, or anywhere in Tamriel, and it would not matter, but it just so happens that I found my way here and met you."

"Care to explain more or shall I pierce a hole in that throat of yours?"

"You're not with the Dragonborn," she stated, ignoring his question. "I take it that something happened to her?"

"Speak or I'll skewer you and decorate that tree over there with your intestines so the next dragon that comes by can roast you good," he hissed, cold fury framing his face.

"Haha, you think you're the first one to threaten me like that?" she grimaced. "Now, you seriously don't make any difference, master thief. But if you insist – I am being hunted. I'm no longer trusted by either the Thalmor or my master. Or my former master, rather."

Brynjolf's mind was racing, loads of questions flooding his thoughts. What should he ask next? He wanted to leave the place as soon as possible to avoid encountering more dragons. This woman had betrayed the lass and she had to pay for it, but still, something at the back of his mind was telling him that killing her would not do him or the lass any good. Rather, he would question her and make her help him achieve his aim. He had to be careful since she was obviously a skilled magic user… but on the second thought, she could have killed him if she had wanted to. Or at least avoid being caught.

"Who was your master?" he asked at last.

"His name is…" A slight moment of hesitation followed before she decided to speak again. "His name is Andariath Torelloy. But you won't ever hear of a person of such name. Not even he is aware that I know his real name."

"That is quite an odd name, even for a high elf," Brynjolf commented thoughtfully.

"That's because he's not one, even though he's pretending to," Sinawen said simply and the thief was sure she would have shrugged if not for the blades pressed against the fair skin on her neck.

"Then who is he?" he asked and failed to conceal a trace of curiosity in his voice.

"An Aldmer," she replied with a smile. Brynjolf winced and his eyes widened in shock.

"And just how old would this… Aldmer," the word was pronounced slowly, apprehensively, "be by now?"

The smile was now wide on Sinawen's face, bearing a mixture of amusement, irony and, surprisingly, remorse.

"I'd say four thousand years, or something around that."


	18. A Knock on the Door

**Chapter 18: A Knock on the Door**

Dragonsreach was in uproar. People kept running back and forth, shouting curses and verbally fighting each other, the present Imperial soldiers with legate Quentin Cipius in their lead restlessly marching the place and spitting curses at whomever they found fit at the moment. Balgruuf was sitting in his throne and pressing his fingers to his temples. All this screaming and cursing was giving him a headache and the fact that it was a lone messenger coming and announcing the fall of the Dragonborn who had caused it was not helping either.

 _"My Jarl! The word has it that the Dragonborn has fallen! There was a traitor in legate Marcus's camp and he just took her away! It's all over!"_ he had cried so loud that all Dragonsreach could hear him. Before Balgruuf could say or do anything, everyone had been on their feet, rioting or just bawling in despair.

 _No, it is not over,_ he thought to himself, holding onto the last speck of hope that remained in his heart. _If the Dragonborn had really failed, there would be an army of pointed-eared freaks in hoods and gilded armors just behind our gates. But there is no army and she has to be alive. She would never fail. Not her._

He would not accept it. The Dragonborn was like a child he had raised on his own. It was his housecarl who had discovered who she was, it was he who had been the first jarl to name her his Thane, and it was him whom she had always come running to when searching for a solution. He knew her well and was absolutely sure that she would definitely see things through. She was _his_ Dragonborn. She could not have failed.

"Damn the Stormcloaks!" he heard legate Cipius roar from the back of the main hall and a pair of loud footsteps shook the wooden flooring. "Skyrim is weakened and it's all thanks to them and the blasted corpse of Ulfric, Oblivion take his spirit! Had he not started the rebellion, Skyrim would have fared just fine and the Thalmor would not be a threat!"

 _Alduin was not truly defeated and the threat still lies in the air like a dark omen of death. It is he who set the citizens of Skyrim to fight among themselves, it is he who sent the Thalmor to conquer our home._

Cipius could not be more wrong. Balgruuf shook his head and knit his eyebrows. He stood up, his eyes roaming the place and examining every part of it, sliding along the ravaged benches, broken plates and goblets scattered around the table which bore scorched spots caused by the knocked candles, all the way to the entrance door whose leaves were flying shut and open again as people kept coming and leaving as they pleased. He sighed and turned to the doorway on his left leading to a side chamber.

"Farengar!" he called and waited. A Nord mage with a conspicuously long chin in dark grey purple-shaded robes sloppily stitched together appeared in the doorway, a worn-out look in his bronze eyes.

"What do you need, my Jarl?" he asked wearily and the question sounded pure obligatory.

"Chin up, Farengar Secret-Fire," the Jarl spoke firmly. "Your dream is about to come true."

"My dream?" the mage looked clearly confused, tilting his head to the right slightly.

"You are going to be fighting dragons."

Farengar's eyes widened in surprise.

"Dragons? Now? But…"

"Yes, dragons, Farengar. Make all the necessary preparations. We are going into the wilds."

"We? Meaning that you are going as well, my Jarl?"

"That is correct. It is about time I stepped up as a Skyrim citizen and started fighting for our land. This war has gone too far."

Immediately, a number of faces turned to Balgruuf in surprise. A red-haired Dunmer woman with a stern look on her face in a sturdy-looking leather armor and a fine steel blade attached to her left side walked up the stairs leading to the throne and gave him a scolding look.

"You are not serious, Balgruuf, are you? The land is treacherous nowadays, and there are…"

"I know exactly what there is, Irileth," he interrupted her impatiently. "And yet I am always sitting here at the warmth of my own hearth, letting others do my job. I am sick of waiting like a coward until someone comes and kindly rids me of my title and my life."

"That someone could try and they would have me to deal with them. You can send me, but…"

"The Dragonborn is fighting for us!" Balgruuf exclaimed and the sound of his fist hitting the wall behind him emphasized his words.

"The Dragonborn is gone!" Irileth hissed but she was quickly cut off by his waving hand.

"She is not," he said with a rock-solid determination in his eyes. "If she was," his voice now turned into a mere whisper, "then we would know about it. The Thalmor are no fools, they would not waste any time. On this day, we march on Windhelm, like it or not. And we will be victorious."

Another scream came from behind and Balgruuf hit the wall with twice the power as before.

"SHUT IT ALREADY!" he roared, the echo of his voice resonating in everyone's ears a good minute after he had finished. Suddenly, there was a silence and all the people who had been rampaging up until that moment now turned their startled looks to the blonde Nord. The ever so calm man was now furious, his eyes sending dangerous sparks to everyone around.

"The Dragonborn is still fighting for us," he repeated so everyone could hear him clearly. "She is there and she's waiting for us to make a move and clear the passage to Solitude and wherever the blasted Dominion has their headquarters. And so we will act."

"But the city…"

"I believe the Companions will gladly defend it when I am gone. After all, it is their city as well."

"But who's going to run it?" Irileth asked with a slightly irked expression.

"Vignar Gray-Mane."

The crowd went restless again, a number of objections fired at the Jarl, and he raised his hand to restore order.

"Vignar?!" Irileth exclaimed in outrage. "That man is waiting for the chance to take over! He'd sooner stab you right in the heart along with all of us than return the city to its legitimate Jarl!"

"Nevertheless, he is a capable leader and also a highly valued member of the Companions. I will have Jon Battle-Born watch over him to make sure nothing happens. And," he added with a sly smile, "I have a reason to believe he would not be so foolish as to go against the Dragonborn when she returns. As far as I know, she did find a certain lost family member of his. The Thalmor sure won't have good memories of that day." The last sentence was pronounced with a good deal of pride in his voice, revealing much about his attitude towards Aislinn.

"As I find it unlikely to change your mind, I do hope it works out in our favor," Irileth said with a sigh. "You are a man Skyrim would not want to lose."

Balgruuf nodded in appreciation of her concern.

"Proventus," he addressed a well-dressed bald man with sharp look, one of the few who did not seem to be shaken by the recent events. The Jarl's steward knew better and his demeanor exuded experience. Without a word, he turned to Balgruuf and waited for his orders.

"I need you to spread the word. The Dragonborn is alive and she will be back."

The steward paid him a deep bow and headed for the entrance at once. It was legate Cipius this time who decided to raise an objection.

"But my Jarl, Marcus's soldiers clearly saw the Dragonborn being dragged away and…"

"The Dragonborn _is_ alive and she _will_ come back," Balgruuf said resolutely and shot a petrifying glance to the Imperial who backed away timorously. "This is a fact and no-one is to question it."

He felt a hint of satisfaction as he looked at the faces of the people standing in the hall, filled with newly found strength and determination. Of course, he was no fool. He had no evidence that the words he had just spoken were the truth and was well aware of the fact that despite the enormous power she wielded, the Dragonborn was still a human, a young and surprisingly fragile woman on top of that. He was praying in his thoughts for her safety, feeling anxious and disheartened, but the time called for desperate measures and he could not afford to have the morale of his men swept away. And so he put up a brave act and prepared himself for the fiercest battle of his life.

* * *

There was no real place to hide. The valley was wide, two mountain ridges surrounding a broad belt of leveled ground where a shimmering river meandered its way to the Solitude Bay, accompanied by a paved road which connected Rorikstead and Dragon Bridge. The sun was shining merrily on the land as if it was laughing at the desperate efforts of a black-furred Khajiit woman trying to conceal her presence. She decided to withdraw to a series of bushes growing on a slope below a cozy rock which was about twice her height, casting an imitation of shadow on them.

 _This will have to do,_ she thought as she crouched and her green armor allowed her to blend in, turning the withered color of the bushes and blurring her image as if she was a mere spirit, feeding on the soft shadow of the rock. She looked at the scenery below, holding her breath.

There were several Thalmor officials walking down the road, and by the look of it, they did not seem happy. Farkhali was sure that she would definitely not want to run into them. The thing that disturbed her, though, was the fact that they were looking for something. Or someone. What could they be looking for at this part of the land? Definitely not the Dragonborn, as she had apparently been captured. Still, if Farkhali was right and they were taking her to the embassy north of Solitude, she could see a way to help her. But there was something strange about the embassy. She suspected a portal of some kind, allowing the elves to travel freely between Skyrim and some other land. There were simply too many elves to have come just on a few boats.

The Khajiit thief spotted and Argonian man approaching the elves suddenly, coming from the direction of Dragon Bridge. He seemed light on his feet, hopping blithely without much protection, the only weapon in his possession being a daedric dagger which was skillfully hidden in his right shoe. He wore a long scarlet shirt with purple lining girded by a simple dark leather belt with a modestly ornate buckle and a clean looking pair of white linen trousers. His skin turned the color of deep cyan at his knuckles and at the top of his head and his eyes had a pale shade of what Farkhali suspected to be green.

 _Now that's a surprise,_ she thought to herself, her eyes fixed on the newcomer. _For_ him _to come out of his snuggery, the situation must be pretty bad in Solitude._

The group of Altmer slowed to a mere stroll when they noticed the Argonian, their leader stepping in front as his hood slid down, revealing a thick tuft of short brown hair, quite uncommon for a high elf. The newcomer halted before him, bowing slightly.

"Lord Arethil, what a pleasure to see you," he gave him a bright smile.

"Spare me your faked hospitality, Gulum-Ei," the elf hissed. "Did you find anything?"

"Never wasting a second, as always," the Argonian chittered and bowed again. "Nothing except a few Forsworn, and mind me telling you, but you know how poor I am with weapons and such."

"There is a traitor on the loose," Arethil said in a dangerously impatient tone, "and a whole lot of agents scattered throughout the land. You are a former member of the Thieves Guild and I would have expected you to present some results by now. Must I remind you what happens to you if we find out that you're covering someone up?"

"Definitely not, my Lord," Gulum-Ei whispered. "But I did receive some news about a secret meeting up in that camp over there," he waved his hand to a pair of ragged tents on the other side of the river which had most probably belonged to a hunter. The moment the Thalmor had set their foot in Skyrim and started the war, the hunters had fled their camps or had fallen victim to the occupation. The elves would not allow anyone to roam the land freely, let alone the hunters who presented a symbol of liberty, ignoring all the rules and laws as they pleased.

"When?" the Altmer inquired, shifting his weight and blocking Farkhali's view of the Argonian.

"Tonight after sunset," Gulum-Ei replied promptly. "I was on my way to make some… preparations for the guests. There's hardly any way to conceal my presence here unless I do."

"Then make preparations for two," Arethil said sharply. "I will be sending an agent of my own."

"I already took that into account, my Lord," Gulum-Ei smiled. "Everything will be ready."

"I'll be on my way then. I am expecting you to report to me immediately if you find something."

Another bow from the Argonian, and the group of elves moved off to the north. Gulum-Ei, the wide smile still on his lips, sat down on a natural platform which rose from the ground by the river bank covered in faded sod, and started humming a merry song. Farkhali rolled her eyes and waited, still in her cover. An hour had passed when he finally jumped up on his feet and looked around, his eyes studying the road and all the access paths. And then he spoke.

"Why don't you come down and have a chat with me, Farkhali, my darling?"

She sighed and stood up, shooting the man a stern look.

"I should have known," she said and started walking towards him.

"As beautiful as ever," he complimented her, ignoring her tone.

"You could have sold me out," she pointed factually, leaning to the platform he had been sitting on a while before.

"Of course. And the moment I'd done that, I would have been cut in pieces. I'm not a fool, kitty. They don't spare those whom they don't need anymore. Not these fellas."

"So what's your plan? I don't suppose there's going to be a meeting up there," she waved at the camp.

"Oh, there is," he said in a mysterious voice and waited for her reaction. She smiled sweetly at him and sent him a seducing look.

"The kitty demands answers," she purred, but made the threat behind it clear as the sky above them.

"All right, all right," he exhaled and she noticed him shiver slightly. "You don't have to be afraid, it's just the Forsworn. I think I can play around that… and they are apparently planning something big and it could serve as a nice distraction for the elves. Not too long ago, I met a certain runaway and she told me when I promised her I'd let her go. I guess people will do anything to save their sorry life."

 _Now you're one to talk,_ she commented dryly in her thoughts but kept the statement to herself.

"Say, Gulum-Ei," she whispered softly, "how many secret passages from Solitude do you know of? And I mean the ones that the Thalmor haven't discovered yet."

"I'd say about three of them, one of which leads through the catacombs," he replied and a trace of uneasiness replaced his smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Because," she said in a captivating voice and leaned closer to him, "we are going to save the city."

* * *

It took Brynjolf all his strength and skill to persuade Shadowmere to let Sinawen ride on his back. The black stallion kept fighting back, snorting furiously and baring his teeth at the Altmer woman, at one moment almost killing her as he got on his hind legs and prepared to land on her.

"Oh, come on, lad," Brynjolf pleaded. "Be practical, this woman can lead us to the lass."

The horse shot him an enraged glance and swung his tail wildly, and a cracking sound echoed through the land as he whipped the cold air.

"Aye, I know you're angry, and you have every right to be," he said patiently, "but we need to get there in time."

Another snort followed and the fires of Oblivion could not be more dangerous than the flames which blazed in the eyes of this creature of the Void.

"Look, I'm not happy about this either," the thief sighed wearily. "Do you think I'd do this if I saw any other way?"

Although barely looking convinced, Shadowmere stilled himself. He turned to Sinawen and let out a threatening growl, assuring her that he would make a quick work of her if she was to try anything suspicious. Brynjolf nodded and exhaled in slight relief. He waved to Shadowmere and followed Sinawen who pulled herself onto the saddle. The thief's brows furrowed as he sat behind her and grabbed the reins, thinking of Aislinn and how he would prefer it to be her sitting in front of him. He looked at the dragon corpse one last time and shook his head. Normally, she would have devoured its soul, its very essence, the familiar sparks of golden light encircling her body, until just a skeleton remained. Everything and anything reminded him of her and the emptiness in his heart while she was gone.

He heeled Shadowmere softly and the horse darted into a gallop at once, making Sinawen gasp with shock.

"Just what is this horse made of?" she groaned as the cold wind pushed against her face. Brynjolf felt a slight hint of satisfaction when he realized that while he had the sturdy daedric armor to protect him, the only thing standing between Sinawen and the harsh cold weather were her soft Thalmor robes.

"Ask Sithis," he replied with a sly chuckle and gave out a delightful sigh as he felt her shiver.

It took them a day and a half to finally reach their destination. Even when the weather was fine and the sun melted the frost that had covered the land, the Hjaalmarch marshes were still treacherous enough to slow their pace considerably and Shadowmere kept zigzagging between the dangerous ponds that threatened to swallow them once and for all. When they finally managed to cross them, they found themselves miles away from the closest fording place they could use to cross the Karth River. They could see the Blue Palace of Solitude from there, looming over the land as if it was guarding it, its blue domes reflecting light in the afternoon sun. Now that the Thalmor ruled over Skyrim, it seemed menacing, casting a shadow of dark gloom over the Solitude Bay, and the three of them instinctively kept behind the trees and rocks to avoid being spotted.

Traversing the river and the road which led uphill to Solitude, they carefully bypassed the Statue to Meridia from the reverse side, soon reaching the road leading directly to the Thalmor Embassy. Sinawen let out an exhausted sigh.

"I can't believe we managed not to get spotted," she said in astonishment. "That village down there, Dragon's Bridge," she waved southwest, "is the place where I got caught. The Thalmor pass it regularly, and if there is one word I would definitely not choose to describe the path to Solitude, it would be 'safe'. Anyway, it's best if we leave the horse here. The entrance is located atop of a cliff, there won't be a place to hide."

"The horse" whickered in disagreement but stopped nevertheless, allowing the two passengers to dismount safely and lead him to a cozy cave nearby. He turned almost invisible when he closed his crimson eyes. Brynjolf checked the contents of his backpack and took out everything he considered superfluous for the upcoming trip to the heart of evil. The only extra stuff he brought were the things he would equip the lass with to give her a chance to survive. Then he nodded and took a deep breath.

"It's time to go," he said grimly. "You lead the way now."

Sinawen went ahead and started crawling uphill to a mountain blanketed in snow. He covered the trail behind them, his eyes roaming cautiously for the slightest sign of movement around them. He winced faintly when a blackbird came flying to a pine tree nearby but nothing else disturbed their advance. They climbed up a small cliff which rose over the road to the embassy and entered the cavern whose entrance appeared to be a thick block of ice at first sight.

A tunnel opened before them, barely lit by anything but a faint glow of a few light blue crystals on the walls. Brynjolf studied it attentively, noticing a few small recesses on its sides.

"Are those used for anything?" he asked Sinawen quietly.

"The Thalmor don't store anything here, this tunnel is for access only, but occasionally, there are traps planted in them. If you're thinking of hiding there in case someone appears, forget it, you might as well surrender yourself straight away. We'll probably have to kill any passerby who gets in our way."

"I like it less and less," he murmured disgruntledly.

"I'm amazed you ever liked it," Sinawen replied dryly. He shot a furious glance at her.

"I'm amazed you still dare talk like this," he hissed.

Sinawen smirked at him and the thief resisted the urge to clench his fists. Instead, he decided to crawl his way through the tunnel, carefully disarming the traps set to stop any intruder from going any further. He was thinking of leaving them be so no-one would notice a change but chose not to since they would probably be running back this way with the lass afterwards and there was no chance of no-one noticing a missing Dragonborn. His stomach tumbled as he thought of what might lie ahead.

They reached a small cave room with a teleport, dark and gloomy in the center with a circle of violet sparks shimmering at its edges. Brynjolf's eyes narrowed when a hooded figure walked from there but he managed to pull Sinawen out of sight, back to the tunnel, in time. Quickly, he checked the surrounding recesses, disarmed the least dangerous trap and pressed himself to the wall. His companion followed and they waited, holding their breath.

The elf seemed carefree, indifferent to his surroundings, and Brynjolf let him pass, hoping that he would not notice the traps being disarmed. Fortunately, he did not, and the two of them sighed with relief when they heard the sound of sliding door.

"So much luck in one day," Sinawen whispered.

"I do have Nocturnal's blessing, and the lass does as well," Brynjolf snorted. "But it's not over yet."

"Scared?" she teased. His gaze was cold as ice.

"How often do people pass here?" he asked, ignoring her question.

"Quite a lot. It's a miracle it has been just this one so far."

"Let's go then," he urged.

"Any plan for when we are at that big round chamber full of hostile elves?" she inquired with a smile.

"Survive and get the lass out of there."

"You're not very creative, you know."

"Your right to talk is denied as of now until I say otherwise," he grunted. The corners of her mouth twitched.

They entered the teleport and Brynjolf suddenly felt like vomiting as the world came swirling around them in myriads of colors. They soon found themselves standing in a cozy chamber inlaid with fine pink marble. They took the only way out presented by a narrow corridor, their shadows dancing on the ground as the light coming from the scarce torches on the walls glimmered. The path ascended steeply and ended with a wooden door. Sinawen suddenly stopped when they reached it.

The door opened and a figure in gilded armor appeared on its sill, gasping in surprise at the sight of two intruders. She briskly raised her hand and saluted.

"Greetings," she said and her tone reminded Brynjolf of the first time they had met. "I've brought Lady Elenwen a visitor she requested." Sinawen's expression was the embodiment of innocence, a mild smile curling on her lips. The elf, a tall Bosmer with long black hair tied in a series of braids and equally black eyes, gave her a confused look. She smiled at the luck. He must have been new here, not well-versed in the Altmeri customs.

"Lady Elenwen is holding a meeting at the moment," he said slowly. "Now is not the…"

"I know," Sinawen interrupted him without the slightest hesitation. "She told me to bring him to the restricted area."

The elf's eyes widened.

"And… your name would be?" he inquired suspiciously.

"Reinya Talwen," she replied and looked the elf straight in the eyes. He gasped and backed away, stepping aside to make way for the two of them.

"I am sorry, my Lady," he bowed. "Enjoy your stay in the Marblous Citadel."

Sinawen nodded and entered the door, and Brynjolf followed.

The room they came into was astonishing. A huge round chamber with a fountain in its center, sparkling in all the colors of the rainbow as the water reflected the rays of sunlight coming from the tall windows with pointed arcs on top situated high on the walls. There were eight of them, seven of them rising above the seven doorways which led to the smaller corridors, and a bigger one above an archway to a larger corridor with tall ornate pillars on its sides opening on Brynjolf's left. The whole place was made of colorful marble and decorated in gold, and it seemed to have a life of its own.

Sinawen looked around and a sigh of relief escaped her lips when she discovered that the chamber was almost empty. A few officials roamed the room but as they noticed the Bosmer bowing to the two of them, no-one paid them much attention. She was almost sure that the meeting was not a coincidence and someone had set it up so they would have a clear passage. This had nothing to do with Nocturnal and her infamous luck, and a thought of stern-looking tall elf with a slender face and ethereal eyes crossed her mind.

She headed off towards the door on the opposite side of the chamber, pacing calmly and steadily. Brynjolf exhaled as the door closed behind them.

"Just what in Oblivion is this place?" he whispered. "Where are we?"

"Right now?" Elenwen asked and Brynjolf raised a brow at the question. "Probably in Cyrodiil."

"What do you mean, probably? Don't you know where your… headquarters, or whatever this is, are?" he queried.

"You see, this place is… not quite stable," she explained, her brows furrowing. "Meaning it moves from time to time."

"It moves? Like… this whole building moves?"

"Well, it changes its location."

"And no-one has noticed a thing?"

"It is well hidden. There is strange magic in it and no-one really knows where it comes from. There might be someone who knows some of its history but we are not taught these things. They are considered a national secret."

Brynjolf shook his head in astonishment.

"Never in my life have I imagined something like this," he breathed.

"Let's go," she urged. "The meeting saved us a fight but the ones down there won't be this friendly. And if a word spreads that Reinya Talwen is here, someone's bound to come after us eventually."

"Who is Reinya Talwen anyway?" the thief asked as they started walking down a deserted corridor similar to the one leading to the teleport.

"A Squire," she said. "One of Elenwen's favorites," she added when Brynjolf gave her a confused look. "And she's permanently on a mission."

He let out a sigh, thinking of all the consequences this could have. It was a wonder that they had gotten this far and he was not sure how much further he could push his luck. They continued in silence until they saw a wooden door before them. Brynjolf cussed in his thoughts when he saw it.

"It's locked," Sinawen stated bluntly.

"Oh, you don't say," he snorted.

"Why so edgy? This should be a piece of cake for the likes of you, shouldn't it?"

"Except this lock is quite unusual and I'm not Mercer Frey."

"Who?"

"Never mind."

Brynjolf bent down and pulled out a lockpick. His fingers moved swiftly but the lock was sturdy and its structure was so complicated that the lockpick broke before he could even start studying the mechanism, the next one followed and the third one as well. He sighed.

"Say, can you reshape those icebolts of yours when you cast them?" he turned to Sinawen.

"No, I don't think so," she shook her head. "I don't suppose we can just bust it open?"

"It's protected with magic. Nocturnal, this is really your time to shine," he added with a whisper.

He raised his head and his eyes wandered around, skimming the marble walls and the torches attached to them. They fixed on the closest one, studying the holder, and sudden interest showed in Brynjolf's face.

"That's it," he said. "She really is the Lady Luck. I need you to freeze that holder so I can break the wire that supports it on its edges. Can you do that?"

"Freeze it? If someone wasn't so precautious as to protect even the torch holders here with strange magic, I can break it for you in no time," she laughed.

"Go ahead then," he encouraged.

There were two quick shots of sparkling icebolts, leaving a frost trail in the air, and the wire came loose. Sinawen took the torch in her hand and held it over the door to illuminate it while Brynjolf crouched again and put the wire inside the lock. He turned and twisted, carefully analyzing the structure and the mechanism. The wire was rather pliable, allowing him to shape it accordingly without much effort. Soon he discovered that the keyhole split on the inside in four directions, meaning that the key would have to be something stretchable with four foldable protrusions. It meant that if he was to open the lock, he would have to use four lockpicks at once and they would have to be bent in the middle. He cussed again.

Inspecting the wire, he decided it was too soft to be used as a lockpick. Then, a sudden idea flashed through his mind and he pulled one of Aislinn's daedric gauntlets out of his backpack. A number of thin horn-like parts stuck out of it as a decoration, some of them too wide but some of them the exact size that he needed. He tried to insert one of them into the lock, twisting it carefully until he heard a clicking sound. Something had fallen into place there. He repeated the procedure three more times. Now he had to figure how he would use four of them at the same time. He turned to his companion with a pleading look.

"Could you break this off?" he asked.

"You want me to break a piece of daedric armor?" she stared at him in disbelief. "I'm not a dragon, I highly doubt it."

"Try it at least," he insisted. She did, without much success, but Brynjolf noticed an almost imperceptible groove appear on its surface.

"It will work," he nodded. "Continue. I'll need four of them."

"Are you kidding me? We're going to be here for ages!"

"Or we might pack our things and go back the way we came here."

She sighed and shot another icebolt at the gauntlet. And another. And again. A good hour had passed when four thin horn-like objects rested in Brynjolf's palm and Sinawen leaned to the wall behind her, breathing heavily in exhaustion.

"Now I need you to hold onto two of them and help me get them inside," he told her. She growled but did as he requested. After a few minutes of twisting and trying to coordinate their moves, the lock finally gave in with a click and the door opened. Brynjolf exhaled wearily and entered a round chamber, brightly lit by a goat horn lamp which hung from the high ceiling. Faded images of dragons decorated it, spreading to the walls beneath. The room had the shape of a regular hexagon with its walls slightly rounded and there was a wooden table of the same shape in its center, several ornate upholstered chairs scattered around it. There were no windows, only three doorways opened on the opposite side of the one Brynjolf and Sinawen had come from. Suddenly, a cacophony of sounds reached their ears and they froze.

They heard someone screaming from the door on the left, and a number of elven voices shouting one over another. There was a fight, apparently, and then an elder woman with wavy white-blonde hair and a worn-out look in her face dressed in the deep blue Thalmor robes appeared in front of them, running in their direction. She stopped at the sight of them, her eyes widened in surprise. Brynjolf immediately put his hand on Aislinn's daedric sword.

"By the Grace of Auri-El!" she gasped. "You… have you come for the Dragonborn?" She threw a quick glance at the doorway behind her and then continued before they could speak a word. "She's down there, take the door in the middle. Go, save her! Hurry and stop this madness before we all get annihilated!"

Brynjolf wanted to say something but it was Sinawen this time who pulled him along, darting towards the middle doorway. As they entered it, he noticed a flash of light and then the woman's body hit the ground with a thud. One last word escaped her lips before she died.

"Renadil."

The thief closed his eyes in horror but reopened them again, forcing himself to concentrate on the path before them. The corridor was wide, spanned by a round ceiling. The walls, unlike the rest of the complex, were made of massive blocks of coarse sandstone, the only decorations being the crevices in between them and the torches that lit the place. The path descended even deeper below and Brynjolf suspected they were underground. And then, a terrifying scream full of sheer pain and madness cut through the air, making his blood run cold. His face turned a pale shade of green and his eyes widened in shock. He froze and turned to Sinawen.

"Tell me… please tell me my ears were deceiving me just now…" he whispered weakly.

"They were not," she shook her head and he could see her shiver. "Your Dragonborn is going through a torture."

* * *

 _And so the longest chapter so far is over. I hope you liked the insight into Balgruuf's mind and his relationship with Aislinn. I always liked Balgruuf when playing Skyrim and kind of took him for my papa there and so I made him one in the story as well. I consider him one of the most intelligent beings in Skyrim and therefore I wanted to give him a proper place in the story. :)_

 _Do you remember Gulum-Ei? It's not his real name, though, but he introduces himself as such in the game. I met him by accident when I played Skyrim last time and tried to study Solitude to be able to describe the place in the story, and that's when I decided I would make him an essential character. Well, he is a scoundrel to the core but you know Farkhali. She has a way with the guys. (And sometimes with women as well. :D)_

 _So that's about it. I hope you liked the chapter and I promise that Aislinn will be present in the next one. Finally!_

 _Also, thanks to Twillin for pointing out that the first letters in some words should be capitalized (e.g. Daedra). Sorry for making mistakes, I will try to correct them as soon as possible._

 _Thanks for sticking with the story, reviews etc. much appreciated._

 _Mirwen_


	19. The Child of Akatosh

_Hello, everyone! I changed the rating of the story to M as there is some adult content in this chapter. However, it's not too explicit, I'd say, and I'm not sure if it really fits the M rating. I would very much like you to tell me your opinion since I would be a lot happier if it could keep the T rating, just because the story itself is more of adventure and much less of violence and… other adult themes._

 _Ok, so a little update (like 12 hours after this chapter had been published): After a little consultation and a lot of thinking I changed it back to T. There will not be many scenes like this in the story again, if any, and I really think it's not that serious._

 _Still, a little warning – there is some blood, violence and suggestions. I hope you have a good read nevertheless. Enjoy the chapter. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 19: The Child of Akatosh**

 _"This might be the last time we are talking to each other,"_ Lucia felt brother Martin speaking in her mind. _"Something is happening to the Dragonborn and I have a reason to believe she will soon need you."_

"You won't talk to me ever again?" she asked, a hint of disappointment in her voice. She had been suspicious of the strange voice echoing in her head before, and also had gone through a period of time when she had hated this tenacious intruder from the bottom of her heart, but it suddenly seemed lonely to her if she was to part with the only being that had kept her company during her imprisonment. Would she be all alone from now on?

 _"I do not know,"_ he replied honestly. _"There might be a time when we meet again, but for now, it is best that we do not, for your own safety and the safety of the Dragonborn. Farewell, my little apprentice. You have learnt well and there is but one thing that remains. Go and learn to live with what you have gained here on your own."_

"I will miss you, brother Martin," she whispered in a trembling voice.

 _"You will not,"_ he said reassuringly and it felt like a soft chuckle. _"Stay safe."_

Then his presence disappeared. Lucia blinked and the world came spinning around her. She went weak in the knees and suddenly fell down on her soft mattress, darkness enshrouding her slowly as she closed her eyes and fell into a slumber.

She did not know how long she had slept when she opened her eyes again. There was a strange feeling of emptiness inside her, and she knew something was missing but she had no recollection of what had happened. As if she had been doing _something_ for a long, long time but no trace of what it could have been remained. Just how in Oblivion had she spent the last month? She had been here, at the round marble room with tall windows which were too high for her to look from and a mattress in the middle, with a small sliding window right next to the wooden, magic-protected door, both leading to a rather vast corridor. A small privy was situated on the left side of the door and she suspected that the tube opening there led under the corridor. But this was not the only place she had been to during that time. It couldn't have been. Just how could she have forgotten? She sensed that the memories were of great importance to her and could not bear losing them. But she could not remember. Feeling a slight sting of regret, a lone tear slid her cheek. Then another, until she curled on the mattress and started sobbing to her knees.

Then, a noise issued from the outside and she heard several people shouting. The voices came near and then there was a click and the door swung open. She quickly sat up, facing a dark elf in purple robes with silver lining, his soft white hair framing his face and flowing over his shoulders. A pair of shining fiery eyes was staring at her and she shuddered at the wickedness which radiated from them. Jumping on her feet, she stepped back until her back was pressed on the wall behind her. Two other figures came flying into the room, a wavy white-gold haired Altmer woman in the Thalmor robes and a man with a light brown mop dressed in a simple dark red tunic belted at the waist. Lucia spotted a bracelet and a ring on his left hand, the enchantments cast on them emitting a light blue glow. They quickly stepped in the Dunmer's way.

"Step aside," the dark elf commanded. "We have no use for this brat anymore, except for killing her and gloriously presenting her corpse to the Dragonborn. Oh how delightful the sight will be!"

"You can't just kill an innocent child!" the female Altmer screamed. "Have the Thalmor fallen so low?!"

"Low?" the Dunmer hissed. "You really don't know anything. No, the Thalmor is rising to its dominance. Can't you see?"

"See what?" the man asked coolly without the slightest movement of his body. "That our once upon a time beloved leader gave in to madness and decided to cast the land into darkness and rid it of its only hero? Power is one thing, but what can we gain if there is no hope anymore? What can we gain if the only thing we leave behind is hatred and lust for vengeance?"

"Traitors. Your brains are so limited… step aside if you want to save your sorry asses. I'm giving you one last chance."

The two objectors raised their hands in unison and bright lightning bolts thundered from their stretched fingers. A barrier evolved around the dark elf and absorbed all of their power, the fiery-eyed man grinning maliciously. He raised his own hand in response, casting a single dazzling beam of flames which shot forward in a blinding speed. The two Altmer quickly jumped aside and Lucia followed them. A split second after, a scorched circle appeared on the wall she had been leaning to. She gasped as her mind processed what had just happened. With her eyes widened in horror, she watched the three people in the room and silently prayed to Stendarr for the safety of the Altmer.

A lot of shouting followed along with more beams and thunders, and the marble walls were slowly turning the singed color of greyish dark brown. The air was heavy with foul smelling smoke which filled Lucia's nostrils, came down her lungs and made her cough intensely and she watched her mattress get burnt into ashes when three fireballs in a row hit it. The three elves hopped, skipped and jumped, evading blazing shots of lightning and fire. Occasionally a ward appeared but dissolved quickly as the next shot struck it. Lucia ran around in dismay, trying to avoid the fight as much as possible, leaning to the walls, crouching, leaping and rolling. Then there was a blinding ray of light and the Altmer man fell on the ground, his body lifeless and broken.

"Renadil!" the woman screamed and a painful grimace disfigured her face. She was preparing to fire at the vicious Dunmer again when another figure ran into the room and pushed her aside, making her trip and fall. The man was tall, dressed in the blue of the Thalmor robes, but Lucia could see nothing of his face as his hood was pulled deep down and covered it completely. She sensed strange magic about him and it made the hairs on the back of her head stand on end.

"Leave if you value your worthless life," he hissed to the woman. "This one is my prey."

The woman stared at him, shock displaying in her eyes, but then she slowly rose and staggered to the door. The Dunmer turned to her but was quickly smashed against the wall as Unrelenting Force lifted his body and flew him over the room in a breath-taking speed. The echo of the man's voice resonated in the room and shook its walls. Lucia gasped.

This man had just Shouted! She had seen her mama do it when a group of bandits had decided to attack the Lakeview Manor. They had been dealt with before they could even raise their weapons, and it had been the only time she had seen Aislinn so furious, stepping in between her and the scoundrels, her body trembling as she had been trying to shield her. And this man… he wielded the same power as her, and he was a Thalmor. The only man who should have been able to do this apart from the legendary Greybeards was supposed to be dead, and she was sure that this one had nothing to do with Ulfric Stormcloak. And yet, he had Shouted. Then, the train of her thoughts was disrupted when the newcomer spoke.

"No Daedra will save you now, Marilis," he said quietly. His voice was soft and enchanting, and Lucia shuddered as he spoke. "You believe too much in their power… but there are powers far beyond the strength of the inhabitants of Oblivion. Do not underestimate the Dragonborn. She will not yield to the World-Eater."

Marilis smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but was struck by an icebolt before he could. It pierced his heart and the Dunmer's body hit the ground, a cracking sound which upset Lucia's stomach echoing through the room as his skull crashed with the scorched ground.

The man in the Thalmor robes walked slowly to the corpse and searched it. Having picked up a small object from the pleats of Marilis's purple attire, he turned to Lucia and threw it to her. She caught it, surprise reflecting in her face, and studied it. It was a strange object, shaped like a dragon claw and made of pearl.

"The Dragonborn is in the laboratory deep down in this complex," he said quietly. "Go down this corridor and take the first door on your left when you exit it. Do not stop and absolutely do not let yourself get killed. You must deliver this to her. Oh, and take some of these as well, she'll need them," he searched his robes for a few flasks of potions, red and green in color, and a smaller netted bag to put them in, leaned forward and passed them to her.

She took them hesitantly, nodded and darted out to the corridor without questioning his demeanor. It did not matter. She wanted to get out of here, out of this terrible place which she had no good memories of, and find her mama as soon as possible. She was scared and unsure of how she would manage to get there but that only made her more determined. She sped into a wild run with the image of Aislinn being the only thing on her mind.

* * *

The tall elf exhaled as he bent to the dead body of Marilis again, searching his robes thoroughly. He found several pouches, some of them with enchanted jewelry while others contained a number of white translucent stones.

"What a nasty way of dealing with things," he snorted with disgust. "Since when have you grown fond of Namira's ways, Mehrunes Dagon?" he asked the wall in front of him absent-mindedly.

"The way does not matter as long as it brings power," a response came in a deep and melodic voice, a voice of great might and authority, so calm and yet sharp as the finest blade. The elf froze in surprise.

"I do not remember inviting you to this plane, Dagon," he hissed.

"And I do not remember asking you to kill my champion, Andariath Torelloy," the Daedra responded icily. "What? Surprised to hear your name after such a long time?" he asked when the elf's eyes narrowed.

"He was threatening my prey," he said quietly.

"Too bad," Mehrunes Dagon chirped affectedly. "There will only be one winner in this hunt, for there is only one Dragonborn. She defied me and she has to pay for it. Her suffering is music to my ears and her power will become the drive of my reign. You better remember these words, pitiful Aldmer. You may be one of the eldest and most experienced creatures in your plane, but there are places even you cannot reach. But then again, you would not feel the need to use the Dragonborn had you not known. Let us see who comes out victorious."

With that, his voice faded into nothingness. Andariath Torelloy snorted as he realized the awful irony. Marilis had been a fool and he had been used, for Mehrunes Dagon knew all too well that the Dragonborn would not submit to the Thalmor nor the World-Eater. He had been playing a cruel game with him, sending him to his death. What a cruel, ugly world this was. Too cruel to leave the power to the ones who were not fit to wield it.

He cast a flame spell on the Dunmer's corpse, burning everything including the rotstones to ashes. When nothing but coal dust remained of them, he turned around and walked away, nothing in his posture proclaiming that he had just killed one of the most dangerous men in Tamriel and spoken to his Daedra Lord. He had trained this posture well and taken it to perfection.

The night had fallen and the windows lining the walls of the vast corridor which descended to the depths of the citadel gloomed in dark shadows. The torches between them provided light to his path as he paced down, his shadow trembling on the ground. After a while, he reached the exit of the now vacated corridor and found himself standing in a hexagonal room with slightly concave walls. Next to the table of the same shape which stood in its middle lay a corpse. It belonged to the white-gold haired Altmer woman who had so bravely protected the little girl which was now, if everything had gone the way it was supposed to, trying to save the Dragonborn.

"Too bad," he whispered. "Out of them all, you were among the more likeable ones. But the weak never survive long in this world."

He walked to the body and shut her eyes gently. Then he turned to the door right next to the one he had come from and entered another corridor. This battle was not over yet.

* * *

Aislinn opened her eyes. The way she felt could not be described by words, as if she had been run over by a million of horses, as if her body had gone through the fiercest flames and the iciest frost at the same time, as if she had been drowning for thousands of years and pierced by myriads of scorching blades, and her heart had been squeezed into a tiny bundle and then stretched to the vastness of Nirn itself, but she was still kept alive and sober to feel every touch of the pain inflicted on her. She did not have the strength to cry anymore, and even less to move or make a sound. She was not keen on studying her surroundings either, withdrawing herself to the soothing feeling of resignation.

 _Just kill me already,_ she wished. _I can't take this anymore…_

"Dovakhiin," a voice spoke to her, and it had two natures to it. It was a deep, quiet and slightly hoarse voice of an elderly Khajiit man, and Aislinn remembered Ri'saad, the leader of the traveling caravans and a dealer for the Thieves Guild, but although it came from his body, she knew it was not him speaking. Another dark and terrifying presence leaked from it, and the sound of it was much deeper and rougher than the smooth Khajiit voice. It was the sound of raw power which threatened to swallow her.

 _Alduin,_ she whispered in her mind but did not manage to articulate the word.

"So long have I waited," he said in a low voice. "And now you're here before me. I do not fancy humans in any way, but to be honest, after being hosted by so many weaklings, their pitiful vessels crumbling apart upon me, I do find your body rather… appealing."

Two claws slid over Aislinn's chest and left a pair of thin lines which slowly turned the color of her blood.

"You have the noble blood of a dovah in you," he purred affectionately. "You will help me return to my glory. How ironic, that the one who was supposed to stop me would be helping me come back."

And there it was again, the sudden burst of energy that exploded in her when she was being threatened and driven into corner. She winced and shuddered and then an abrupt flash of pain shot through her body, making her scream in terror. She was not paralyzed by the rotstone anymore. Instead, there were tubes running through her limbs, two pierced her wrists while the other two came through her calves, strange liquid flowing inside. They were solid and still in their places, and the slightest movement made them tug at Aislinn's arms and legs, tormenting her to the edge of madness. She gasped and felt tears well up in her eyes against her will.

"Now, Dovakhiin," Alduin said slowly with a slight undertone of amusement in his voice, "let us get this over with. It will all be easier if you just surrender yourself to me. Come, Dovakhiin. Give me your soul and the souls of the dovah you have killed which are rightfully mine."

She watched as the old grey-furred and now wrinkled and ragged Khajiit walked over to her left side and pulled a translucent pliable tube from somewhere behind her, probably from a machine which was connected to the solid tubes penetrating through her limbs. Her blood ran cold at the thought of what was about to happen, but she'd rather die than give Alduin anything of hers.

Holes opened in the tubes so the strange liquid suddenly flowed into her body, applying pressure to the soft tissues inside, connecting her flesh and mind with the World-Eater's. She felt a cold presence grasping her whole being and more pain followed, stabbing, piercing, crushing and tearing her apart, trying to rid her of something that had been a part of her for as long as she could remember, her very essence.

She gave out a tormented cry and her body trembled violently but she refused to give in.

"Kill… me…" she rattled weakly, forcing her head to keep facing the run-down Khajiit. He glowered at her, displeased with the result, and ceased his efforts momentarily. Then, a contended grimace replaced his angered expression and he leaned to her so she felt his shallow breath on her face.

"You are indeed strong, Dovakhiin," he uttered softly, "but it only makes it better for me in the end. It just means that I am going to become that much stronger. But you are still human, and I will crush that human side of you. I have studied your kind and it appears that you are quite… particular about mating. It would seem that the lousy Dunmer who delivered you had started before me but couldn't quite finish the job. Maybe I should demonstrate how to break a human's spirit for him."

He smiled at her repulsively, making her heart stop at once. There was a ripping sound and she knew that her shirt had come off. Despair got the better of her and she wanted to cease her existence. She tried to escape to the depths of her conscious, forcing herself to reshape the reality she was seeing to fit the boundaries of acceptable, to forget what she was going through, just as she had done when Marilis had tried to toy with her, but this tormentor of hers was perceptive and prevented her from achieving that. He made her look at him, see the beast beyond the tattered face of the catman, and his gaze petrified her and made the time stop. She heard voices inside her, whispering and calling to her.

 _Give in, Dovakhiin,_ they urged her soundly, the force of their calls crushing her spirit. _Become a part of the power you cannot escape, and the circle will be completed. Behold as the world falls only to be born anew. You do not have to fight this power. Give in and you will gain from it._

She felt his presence everywhere. His touch was soft at one moment and rough at the other, leaving her tremble and forcing a soft moan out of her lips. It mixed with the sharp pain of her limbs being tugged at and she cried out in agony. She was silenced the next moment, feeling the tender surface of his tongue against hers.

There was a burst of emotions springing from her chest in every direction of her body. Pain. Fear. Despair. Regret. Resentment. Hatred. And the desperate urge to crush this repulsive existence, tear it apart and scatter it all around the Planes so no-one could ever put it together again. And yes, she would. There was an inner smile spreading about her when she realized that the effect of his actions was the exact opposite of what he had wanted. No, he would not subdue her like that. She would prevail.

 _Dovakhiin,_ a voice called to her again, but it was the gentle voice she had heard the last time. _There is strength in you which Alduin does not understand. Use it against him._

 _Paarthurnax,_ she called to him, casting away the restraint which had prevented her from accepting his presence before. _It really is you._

 _Su'um ark morah, Dovakhiin,_ the voice said and a soothing calmness took over her. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The dragon in the Khajiit body seemed furious, ready to bury his claws in her body, but several things happened when he raised his hands.

A spectrum of sounds reached Aislinn's ears, starting from a resonant creak of opening door up to several clamorous screams which echoed through the spacious place, and a pair of icebolts flew in Alduin's direction, barely missing his head as he quickly ducked. Aislinn turned her head to look around for the first time, registering a vast chamber whose walls were raised in large blocks of sandstone, connecting at its center in a massive cross vault. She gasped as the sharp pain in her limbs reminded her she was still pinned down by the cursed tubes but continued turning nevertheless, ignoring it and trying to carve as much of the place into her memory as possible.

The platform she was lying on was situated in the far end opposite the entrance door, connected to a strange device which reminded her of Dwemer mechanisms, steam coming out of the tubes which stuck out of a round container, except unlike the typical dwarven machines, this one was made in glass and other translucent materials. She could see the strange colorless liquid bubbling inside. But before she could wonder what it really was, an object flew straight through the container, breaking it in pieces, and a loud splash followed as the liquid flooded the floor. The tubes in Aislinn's arms and legs jerked and she failed to suppress a tormented scream. A series of yells and shouts followed and she suspected at least four other people in the room. Then she gasped when she heard a soft high pitched voice, too young to belong to an adult, shrieking as it approached.

"Lucia!" she cried out and a horrific grimace shaped her face. Why? Why was she here, in the middle of the fight? She had no means to protect her… no means to protect anyone. The girl was there in a split second, fear reflecting in her widened eyes as she skipped and dodged the occasional shots of magic fire and frost and a pair of buzzing arrows. Aislinn praised the child for being swift and quick to react. She could turn into a deadly fighter if trained properly… but somehow it seemed to her that she had already received some training. Not from her though. Just what had happened to the innocent girl that she had been raising, keeping her out of fights and the cruelties of the world?

Another flash of pain shot through her as her adopted daughter tugged at the tubes that pierced her, and she watched a pair of anguished tears slide down her cheeks, but the little girl continued stubbornly, gritting her teeth, until they finally slipped out. The image of her blurred suddenly when blood started streaming from Aislinn's wounds and she felt the precious life energy leave her body. Then Lucia's voice resonated somewhere near her head and a flask mouth was pressed to her lips.

"Mama," she whispered in a trembling voice, "drink up!"

A healing potion. Lucia had come prepared and acted on full conscience of what she was doing. Aislinn was shocked at the discovery but forced herself to cast it away for the time being and swallow the slightly bitter liquid that flowed into her mouth. She had always hated the potions and their immediate stinging effects as they spread in her body and repaired cell after cell, tissue after tissue, but it felt soothing this time, the pain slowly fading from her body. She had downed the flask when an arrow came flying towards her. Lucia gasped but a dark figure landed suddenly just before the platform with a loud splash as the spilt liquid spattered all around and a blade split the arrow in halves. Aislinn focused on the newcomer, noticing daedric armor and a pair of blades, a daedric one and an ebony one. And from down below the helmet came… no, that could not be true. A veil of hair of that all too familiar rust color. But Brynjolf in a daedric armor? Then again, that would explain the sloppy way he was moving around, the extremely loud sound as he had landed behind her…

"Staying safe, I hope, lass?" a hoarse voice issued. There was no amusement in it, the joke sounded cold as ice and Aislinn shivered.

Another flask appeared at her lips and this time, spicy light green liquid came down her throat, making her cough and mist with tears, but she felt her strength returning slowly. She was just in time to spot Alduin rising on his feet again in attempt to smother the helpless and unarmed Lucia who stood right next to her, trying to help her on her feet. Aislinn rose furiously, her eyes shooting fire at the dragon in human form, trembling as she still felt the recent blood loss, but refusing to give in. She took a deep breath and her lips parted.

 _"Fus Ro Dah!"_

The Shout was deafening, thundering about the vast chamber, shaking its foundations and causing a screen of sandy dust to descend from the walls and the ceiling, covering everyone in a blanket of greyish yellow. An immense force lifted Ri'saad's body and thrusted it into the wall behind, dismissing the already half crumbled vessel that the Black Dragon had been using to store his soul. Aislinn ran to it, stripping it in one skilled movement and pulling Ri'saad's ragged tunic over her mostly bare body. A dark presence lifted from the corpse and Aislinn, quickly running back to Brynjolf, watched it roam the room. Clearly it was deciding on its next target but it was harmless for now and she decided to ignore it for she would not be able to deal with it anyway.

She focused on the thief who was fighting three elves, two in deep blue robes and one in gilded armor, whom she finally spotted for the first time. And then there was another one, a ragged Altmer woman, but nevertheless graceful and beautiful as she fought her way to Brynjolf, a ward spell in one hand while the other kept shooting icebolts at her enemies, her long black hair flying about her, waving with elegance. Aislinn knew that woman and she frowned at the realization.

 _Dovakhiin!_ a voice inside her echoed in warning.

 _That woman…_ she thought angrily but the voice continued.

 _Leave her be. Do not let your agitation take over you. She is on your side now._

 _She killed you!_ Aislinn screamed in her mind.

 _I am right here, Dovakhiin. Do not waste your energy on meaningless revenge._

Aislinn sighed and was forced to duck as an arrow flew past her. The three Thalmor were approaching steadily, two mages at sides with their wards raised while the armored one in their middle held a daedric bow, an arrow nocked ready, aiming steadily at Brynjolf. She knew he would not dodge it as long as she was behind him, and so she stepped aside, pulling him along just as the arrow buzzed through the air. It missed them by a hair.

"Stay behind me," she ordered Lucia as she turned her head to her. "No matter what, don't leave my side and don't let them have a clear aim at you. Do you understand?"

The little girl nodded timidly and Aislinn could feel her anxiety.

" _You_ stay behind _me_ ," Brynjolf commanded sternly, pulling out his bow and reaching for an arrow, but he was ignored as his protégé put up a ward spell of her own and shot a fireball at the elves. He groaned. That was his lass, all right. As reckless as ever.

Her magic was not strong but she achieved what she had wanted to: the three Altmer ran in different directions and the formation was broken. Brynjolf and Sinawen both used the distraction to fire at them but the elves were skilled in combat and evaded the shots fairly effortlessly.

"Just who in Oblivion are they?!" Aislinn growled and her brows furrowed with concentration as she tumbled to evade a spray of icebolts while pulling Lucia behind her.

"Squires," the thief said with a snort. "Some kind of Thalmor elite or something."

"Great," she smirked. "And I hope you're proud of yourselves!" she called to them, taunting and provoking. "The mighty elite with great equipment against an unarmed woman who just got out of her deathbed, a mere thief in an insanely heavy armor and an obviously weary runaway!"

Brynjolf's eyes widened in shock and the elves turned to her, their faces red with fury.

"Behind Brynjolf!" she commanded Lucia and the girl obeyed. Aislinn waited until the elves fired at her and then Shouted again.

 _"Feim Zii Gron!"_

Her body turned into a mere spirit, a faint light blue glow emitting from her translucent frame as she ran towards the elves. She could hear Brynjolf screaming at her but paid him no attention, her mind fully focused on just one thing. She leapt towards them and quickly swung behind the back of the one in gilded armor, ridding him of his sword which he had attached to his belt. Her figure turned solid again, and before the elves could react, she sliced the throat of the one before her, leaving his corpse to slide down on the floor.

The advantage of not wearing any armor was that she could move around so swiftly that no shot would hit her as long as she kept concentrating, and so she danced around gracefully, a ward spell ready at her left hand while her right was gripped tightly around the hilt of her newly claimed sword. The two enemies did not falter, though, and refused to let her close onto them, slowly but surely rejoining and driving her their way. She heard Brynjolf and Sinawen approach, Lucia on their tail, and the two elves ran into a corner. Aislinn sensed and opportunity and Shouted again, but her enemies jumped to either side along the walls forming a right angle, ready to dodge the impact, and they suddenly got closer to her. It was the exact moment they were waiting for. Their hands quickly groped about the folds of their robes, pulling out small objects which they threw at Aislinn's feet. Thick white mist appeared and she backed away quickly, painfully aware of how vulnerable she was without the possibility to Shout again. Brynjolf reached her and tried to pull her away, but then something strange happened.

A blaze of golden flames sprang to life and burned the rotstones and the mist, driving it away with a soft hissing sound. They did not singe and they were pleasant on touch, warming the heart and spirit of the three defenders. There was something divine about them, as if Akatosh himself had decided to come to an aid, the beautiful sparks of existence which condemned all that was opposed to creation. Aislinn looked around in slight confusion and her eyes widened when she detected their source. It was Lucia.

The little girl stood there, her innocent face lit in shades of gold, motionless except for her eyes which kept roaming the place cautiously. And then the magic was broken, the light faded and everyone started moving at once.

Aislinn swung to her right, stabbing one of her enemies in his stomach, and Sinawen finished him with a pair of ice bolts. Brynjolf moved to her left but he was too slow in his heavy armor; the other elf circled him and set him ablaze with an effortlessly aimed fireball. He cried with pain and staggered as the flames burned his skin and Aislinn promptly jumped to his side, activating a healing spell at once. Sinawen prepared for a shot but she was beaten to it by an unexpected guest. A tall figure in deep blue robes appeared at the entrance door and fired a thin and deadly icebolt at the Altmer. It pierced right through his heart and pinned him to the wall until the remaining warmth of the elf's body melted it and the corpse slid down. Sinawen gasped.

Aislinn, Brynjolf and Lucia turned around to face the man but his hood revealed nothing of his face, keeping him a mystery for the three of them.

"Go," Sinawen whispered to them. "This is my fight. You get away from here."

A sudden realization struck Aislinn's mind and she glanced at the elf with pure hatred. This was the one. This person had personally killed her beloved teacher as well as two of the Greybeards. This was the mastermind behind all this mess, the wicked schemer, the repugnant existence which should not have been born into Nirn, the ugly joke of the Divines who tried to trample upon her destiny. She would kill him and claim redemption. She would crush him and tear his soul apart, sending it down the path of no return. She would absolutely not leave this man to roam the land freely and have his way.

 _"Yol Toor Shul!"_ she Shouted, flames sprang from her mouth, but the response was immediate.

 _"Wuld Nah Kest!"_ he replied, his Shout sending him just a few feet away from Aislinn, his hood staying in its place as if it was held there by magic, which it probably was.

She darted towards him but he was quick, stepping aside and leaving her to lose her balance.

"You will not defeat me, Dragonborn," he said calmly. "I will not have it so. You will go and find the Elder Scroll, and you will then return and do my bidding, for there is no other choice left for you."

"I will kill you," she snarled as her trembling frame rose from the ground.

 _Dovakhiin!_ Paarthurnax's voice yelled in her mind. _You must not engage in a fight with him!_

"I will kill him!" she replied in a loud and furious voice.

She was preparing to charge at him again but her eyes widened when he aimed an ice bolt at Lucia. Aislinn shrieked in terror but it was Sinawen this time who stepped in promptly and shielded the girl from his onslaught.

"Go!" she urged again. "Do not waste any more time, just go!"

Aislinn nodded helplessly and ran for it. Brynjolf grabbed Lucia's hand quickly and dragged the girl away from the fight. Sinawen, trembling and pale in her face, circled the tall elf so she would always stand between him and the trio of runaways.

* * *

He waited until the echo of their footsteps faded away and silence took over the place, and then the hood slid back and revealed his face. Dark eyes with violet sparks on the edges of their irises watched Sinawen attentively and she shuddered at the sight.

"You gained their trust again," he said, a soft smile curling on his lips.

Her eyes narrowed and she gave him a stern, disapproving look.

"You know you still have a chance," he told her.

She did. But she was tired. He would never love her and she was tired of hiding and lying to everyone, tired of scheming and fearing for her very life. It was not worth it. Not this unrequited love of hers, not any kind of power she would be granted, not even her life itself. It was not worth the pain and fear she had gone through, the never ending insecurity and the feeling of shame and regret that had been constantly haunting her. She was staring at him firmly and then suddenly, something had broken inside of her and a pair of tears slid down her cheeks. He gave her a sorrowful look and it hurt her even more to know it was feint.

"You have chosen your path," he said. It was a statement, there was no uncertainty about it. "If only you had stayed true to your wicked nature," he sighed.

She closed her eyes and knew what was coming. There was no hesitation as he raised his hand and sent a single icebolt flying her way. It stabbed her heart and turned the color of blood when her body dropped on the ground and the life it had harbored slowly faded away.

Without stopping to even look at her, he walked past her, towards the door and entered the corridor beneath it. All was well and went his way… except for the fact that one of those blasted companions of the Dragonborn had been blessed by Akatosh himself. An awakened child, an unexpected threat to his plans. The Dragonborn sure knew how to choose her friends but he would see to it that the life of that girl would end before it even began.

* * *

 _Ok, it was kind of funny writing this chapter. I found out that I'm absolutely hopeless with telling sides, mistaking right for left and the other way around. So I'm lucky that I check the details in the previous chapters because I discovered I had accidentally made the blueprint of the Marblous Citadel different from what it's supposed to look like. I stuck to the one described in the previous chapters in order not to confuse you but I feel ashamed of myself now. :D It's too bad I can't actually post pictures here because it would be nice to add a plan of it. It is a marvelous piece of architecture, after all. (Marblous Citadel… isn't it a great name? Oh no, I'm not bragging, I would absolutely not dare to… oh, ok, I'm bragging. But sometimes I just feel so proud of my creations, even if they're this simple. :D)_

 _Huh, and the chapters just keep getting longer and longer. Hopefully the next one will be shorter. It's unexpectedly hard to keep the text smooth when it's so long. And then I have to proofread it and I start falling asleep when I reach the fifth page. :D_

 _I would also like to thank the Guest for his/her lovely review. Even though I would much like to know what "different" means. :D But anyway, thank you, it made me happy and I'm glad you like the story. :)_

 _So, that's about it. As I will be kind of busy with my job, I'm not sure when the next chapter is going to come out. It all depends on how well it's going to write itself (and no, there's nothing wrong with the formulation). Still, thanks for reading it and hopefully I won't disappoint you. Stay tuned._

 _Mirwen_


	20. A Strike to the Head

**Chapter 20: A Strike to the Head**

They were running, sprinting fiercely through one corridor and then another, ignoring the medley of voices which kept approaching slowly as the inhabitants of this surreal place started realizing that something was wrong. Aislinn felt exhausted, her legs shaking and threatening to buckle under the constant strain. The two potions Lucia had made her drink had helped her stand her ground down at the laboratory but they would not be enough to dismiss the effect of the prolonged torture, both on her mind and body, she had been exposed to for the last five days. Just five days… and it had felt like an eternity to her. She had barely been allowed to sleep, her captors preventing her mind from drifting away to the soothing blackness of her inner world. Whenever she would faint and fall into the calming slumber, she would be forced awake and made a toy for her enemies.

And then there were the rotstones – awful things which decomposed the dragon part of her body. They affected mind as well, embracing it with stupefying force, spreading a numb feeling through her whole being. Even the dragon souls inside her were affected, falling still and silent, and although she was afraid of the turmoil they frequently caused in her mind, this silence made her even more agitated. The only one who appeared to fare well against the repugnant decay the cursed gems inflicted was Paarthurnax, calling to her at crucial moments without failure as he felt her falter and lose her resolve. He would always be there for her, ready to pull her out of a desperate situation. Nevertheless, she did not know how to deal with the stones herself and they seemed to weaken her permanently, taking a part of her with them every time she had been exposed to their influence.

She was catching her breath as they ran and felt her heart beating wildly. Before her was Lucia, sticking closely to Brynjolf at the front who was running ponderously, his footsteps heavy in the daedric armor he was still wearing, but despite that, Aislinn had a hard time keeping up with the two of them. She was silent, denying herself the right to complain, and only gasped quietly when she staggered for the second time already. She was on the verge of Shouting again to close the distance between her and the door which waited for them at the end of the corridor but she knew it would not be worth it. It would only drain more strength from her and catch the attention of the elves who were sure to look for her soon. And so she gritted her teeth and kept running.

They entered the round chamber with a fountain in its center, the sparkling sprays of water now pulsating in light blue and yellow light coming from an unknown source, for it was now dark behind the tall windows which loomed above the eight exits opening along the walls. There was a Bosmer guard running towards them from the direction of a huge marble archway, and on his tail ran a group of Altmer with furious expressions.

"That's him!" the Bosmer yelled, pointing at Brynjolf accusingly. "The one who came with the fake Reinya Talwen!"

"And the Dragonborn as well," one of the hooded Altmer hissed.

Aislinn was glad that she had saved her Shout. She wasted no time, the moment the elves appeared at her sight, she moved aside so she would not hit her companions and sent all of the group flying.

"Where to?!" she called to Brynjolf imploringly. He darted out at once, heading to the other side of the chamber. The exit was locked.

"Damn it, Nocturnal curse it!" he shouted. Aislinn ran to him, pushed him aside and shot a fireball at the door. Two other followed until it burned to ashes, but the elves were now on their feet again, making their way to the trio.

Aislinn's mind raced desperately. They would not make it unless some kind of obstacle for the elves appeared. She did not trust herself to be able to fight in this condition. She could barely stand, let alone swing her blade and face so many enemies at once. An obstacle…

She raised her right hand.

"I really don't want to do this," she informed the elves quietly. Then, an ethereal hooded figure materialized before her. Everyone in the chamber stopped and gasped as the glowing image spoke.

"Lead, and I will follow, Child of Darkness."

"Who in Oblivion…" Brynjolf whispered.

"The Void, actually," the spirit corrected him.

"Keep them busy," Aislinn ordered hastily, pushing the thief into the corridor as well as the little girl who scuttled to her side.

"My Listener," he replied with a nod and she could hear him laugh as he prepared for the havoc he would soon wreak. Still, it was just one assassin, and despite being insanely strong, he would soon be overcome. Time played against them and Aislinn urged to move on.

The corridor descended steeply and Aislinn's legs trembled as her feet tried to find good spots to land on. She had never realized before how much effort a human body had to put into walking downhill but now hers was trying desperately to keep its balance.

 _Just a few more steps,_ she kept telling herself. _Keep it up, it will soon be over…_

And then there came the moment when she could not concentrate on both controlling the body and encouraging herself anymore, and her legs gave way, letting her body fall down on the ground with a thud. She was panting heavily and myriads of colorful sprites of various shapes danced before her eyes, twisting and turning, joining, intertwining and splitting again. From the distance, she heard Lucia's frightened voice.

"Mama!" she called to her and Aislinn could soon feel her small, delicate fingers touch her back. Then there was another hand, big and reassuring one.

"Lass, what's wrong?" Brynjolf asked, his voice beyond concerned. She tried to clear her vision and look at him but did not manage so. "Can you stand?"

She shivered when his hand touched her forehead. It was freezing cold! Or was it?

"Oh gods," he breathed and she felt her limbs fall loose as he lifted her up. Then, a noise came from behind and he broke into a gallop.

Shouts and screams resonated through the passage and Aislinn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She wanted to help but for now she could not think of any other way than to stay still in Brynjolf's arms and try to burden him as little as possible. The limb underneath her legs shifted a little and she heard him sigh in slight appreciation. Then she felt the world swirl about her and opened her eyes in surprise. Her vision was clear now but the image before her was not much different from before. Then the colors faded and she saw a small chamber which quickly evanesced into darkness as Brynjolf rushed into a tunnel lit by dimly glowing crystals of light blue. Then, another elven figure stood in front of them and the thief halted at once, tightening his grip so he would not drop Aislinn. They were trapped.

"Put me down, Brynjolf," she said quietly.

"No." The answer was curt and resolute, not giving any room for argumentation. Except this was Aislinn he was talking to.

"They cannot kill me. Put me down."

"I won't let them drag you away again."

She looked at the approaching elves. Currently, the one in the gravest danger was Lucia, unarmed and helpless and not being able to rely on a burden of porcelain ware which must not be broken at any cost. Brynjolf was safe for the time being but the little girl was not. Aislinn swallowed hard.

She only had one more weapon left which she could use without much effort and she hated to use it just as much as she had hated to summon Lucien Lachance. After all, the power of Hermaeus Mora was not one to be tampered with and the Daedric Prince commanding it proved a fickle friend. But she was not left with much choice and so she raised her hand again and a tangle of slithery tentacles emerged from the ground underneath the feet of the elf blocking the passage before them, writhing about him, slipping under his robes and leaving traces of rot on his skin. He screamed in horror and so did Lucia.

"We have to go," Aislinn urged, directing the words at both of her startled companions. Brynjolf contained himself quickly and darted out, kicking the wretched elf in the shin on his way. Lucia followed and ran past the elf swiftly, keeping the distance between her and the tentacles as great as she could.

Then there was the freezing fresh air, stinging Aislinn in her cheeks. If not for the fever, she would have welcomed the energizing sensation, but it felt paralyzing at the moment and she started trembling heavily. A wild and happy neigh greeted her and she raised her head to look at approaching Shadowmere.

"Shade," she whispered. The stallion spared her any unnecessary gestures, lowering on his knees immediately to let her climb on. Brynjolf set her on his back gently and paused.

"He can carry the three of us a short distance," Aislinn told him wearily. "Don't worry, Shade is no wimp. It would be a different story if I wore an armor and Lucia was troll-sized."

With that, she made room at the front for her daughter and let the thief settle behind her and put his arms around her waist. The door behind them opened and an ice bolt swished through the air, finding Aislinn's right upper arm. She gasped a little and urged Shadowmere to gallop. The horse darted at once, leaping on the road beneath the low cliff.

"Across," Aislinn said to him softly. "Take the cliff on the other side of the road."

"Lass, we're not going to make this!" Brynjolf exhaled in dismay but she shook her head.

"Trust me," she pleaded. And so he did.

Shadowmere hopped over the rocks on the other side of the road, his movements reminiscent of those of a mountain goat. A few times Aislinn thought she would fall down and meet her doom but her red-haired companion always managed to catch her in time. She felt so weak and exhausted… but she had to hold on just a bit longer. Just two miles or so and they would be safe.

She tugged the reins and guided them north, around the snowy steep cliffs which surrounded the rocky mountain they had just left. Somewhere on its very top stood the Thalmor Embassy, and the elves occupying it would soon send more pursuers after them. She made it seem like a poorly concealed attempt to escape along the sea on the north, and then, when a series of pointed rocks and a grove of pine trees and bushes hid them from the elves' sight, she commanded Shadowmere to take a sharp turn to their left. The black horse took a winding path through more cliffs and pine trees before turning left again and making for the Statue to Meridia. The path was steep and slippery and Brynjolf wondered time and time again how the beast could surmount it so easily. But he did and then a stairway opened before them, descending through a series of solitary stone arches along a high platform on which the statue of Meridia stood in all its beauty, mighty wings spreading around the hooded frame of a siren, its hands stretched up, their palms facing each other as if they were trying to grasp Secunda which was shining dimly aloft its head. And underneath the platform on its right side, carved in the rock which supported it, was the entrance to Kilkreath Temple.

"We'll be safe here," Aislinn uttered weakly when Shadowmere stopped before the door. The three of them slid off the horse, Brynjolf supporting the heavily shaking Aislinn from her side, and entered the door, the black stallion, although most unwilling, included. It was the first time Brynjolf welcomed the snowstorm that was coming from the north as it would blanket the ground with a fresh cover of white and erase the trace which could lead the elves to the shrine.

The moment the door closed behind them, Aislinn went weak in her knees and Brynjolf quickly caught her as she fell. She had fallen unconscious, her chest rising and dropping in a rapid pace with every shallow breath she took. Brynjolf realized with a more than apparent trace of concern in his face that this fight had not ended for her. Her fever had worsened and he had to act quickly if he was to help her.

He took her in his arms again, carrying her around and studying the place hastily. Lucia and Shadowmere stayed by the entrance for the time being, the little girl sitting wearily with her back to the wall of the tunnel they had entered.

The great passageway made in stone decorated with ornate ancient Nord carvings led to a wide chamber lit by strange beacons. Pillars of stone and ornate pedestals rose up from the ground and brackets protruded from the walls, holding spheres of brightly glowing white light which beamed from one beacon to another, creating a path through the vast complex. It was an astonishing sight and were it not for the urgency of the situation, he would gladly just stand there and admire the structure for a while. At that moment, though, he just quickly studied the massive walls, the floor and fallen boulders which lay there covered in dust, the elegant beacons and the stairways which connected several platforms rising from the ground and leading further into another tunnel. The path then descended, a number of stairs providing access to an even greater chamber with a series of benches in its lowest level. He took the stairs on its right to ascend to another platform and then to a room situated at the far end of the chamber. The room seemed nice and cozy and a blow of fresh air coming from a vent which opened nearby welcomed him as he stepped in. He carefully laid Aislinn there and returned to the bigger chamber.

There were several shelves just outside the entrance to the smaller room, holding a set of pots and a great number of linen wraps; to Brynjolf's joy, most of them were unused. He grabbed an armful and returned to Aislinn, making a soft bed for her and wrapping her injured arm in one of them tightly. The blankets he had carried with him while chasing Marilis were probably still in the cave where Shadowmere had waited and he doubted he would ever see them again. Then he took off his backpack and grabbed the last remaining bottle of water he had. Having spilled a good amount of the cold liquid over one of the wraps, he stretched the cloth and put it over the lass's forehead. He gave her one last concerned glance before he grabbed two of the pots from one of the shelves and darted back to Lucia.

He hated the idea of sending the tired little girl outside to the raging storm and the world of bloodthirsty Thalmor but saw no other solution. He would not leave the lass's side and so he handed Lucia the pots and sent her to fetch some water.

"If you don't find a spring, just put some fresh snow in there and we'll melt it here," he told her wearily. She nodded and left the tunnel, letting a gust of cold air blow inside as she opened the door. Brynjolf turned around and gestured to Shadowmere to follow him. He led him to the second chamber and left him by the benches. The horse would be fine, never demanding any food or care whatsoever. He had to praise him silently for having noticed the lass immediately when they had appeared on the cliff, for his prompt reaction had probably saved all of their lives. It sure had its advantages to have an intelligent creature of the Void as a companion, never mind how scary the black stallion could be.

Brynjolf shook his head and took a deep breath to clear his mind. He finally changed back into his beloved light armor, setting the mighty daedric harness in the corner of the smaller room, right next to the lass. He slid down and sat on the floor, leaning against the cold wall behind him, and watched her closely, studying her slender figure and pale face. How thin she had become in just five days. She looked like a different person, her skin almost paper-white, seemingly ready to crumble under the slightest pressure. It was his fault. He should have protected her, stay close to her instead of planning a stupid robbery which had backfired at the wrong direction. Even now he feared, scared that she might not wake up and afraid of facing her if she did. And he was tired. So tired…

It was the last thought that occurred to him before his eyelids drooped and his chin dropped on his chest when he fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

Aislinn woke up to a slightly amusing sight of Brynjolf with his back pressed against the wall and crooked to his right, his neck bent so his head hung limply, swinging a touch between his chest and his right shoulder. She felt pressure from her left side and realized that Lucia was sleeping right next to her, her small frame leaning against her mama, head buried in between the pile of linen cloths which covered Aislinn and her hip. She stroked her hair gently and moved the girl into the bed as she rose.

The world went spinning and she had to lean to the wall in order not to fall. She was still feeling extremely exhausted but her body demanded attention. She felt three extreme needs at once. An immense hunger, thirst that was scorching her withered throat and the insanely urgent need to use the privy. She prioritized the latter, staggering through the vast complex, following the light of the beacons through the corridor on the left of the chamber which opened beneath the doorway from the cozy room she had slept in, then down another vast chamber, climbing up a wooden ramp up to the far end of the temple until she reached an ornate door leading to a terrace.

Feeling refreshed and slightly more relaxed, she returned to the small room in a slow pace. She found two jars filled with seemingly fresh water and downed one of them instantly.

Two slices of bread and a carrot were the only things she found in Brynjolf's backpack and so she dug in with appetite that could not be conquered. She helped herself to another healing potion from a small bag which lay at Lucia's feet and grimaced at the stinging sensation which spread through her body, especially acute in her right upper arm. There were several more potions in the bag and…

She picked up the pearl dragon claw curiously, studying it in her hands. So Lucia had met with Marilis. There was so much she wanted to ask the little girl. Just what in Oblivion had happened to her, how had she been able to keep her cool in all that chaos, where had the peculiar golden flames which had singed the rotstones away come from, how come that she had come to her rescue prepared and had refused to falter… this was not the Lucia she had known and it scared her. Then again, Lucia was not the only one who had been changed by the hand of the cursed Thalmor.

She had changed as well. Most of her confidence was gone as she realized that she was not the invincible hero she had made herself out to be. She was neither the strongest nor the wisest. In fact, she had been a fool to act like that and her actions had put the ones she loved in danger.

 _Brynjolf must hate me now,_ she thought remorsefully and watched the thief's sleeping face as a lock of red hair slid over his left cheek. Even so, he had come to her rescue, across all Skyrim and even further, to some weird dimension that the Thalmor had set up as their headquarters, fighting countless enemies, allying with a traitor just so he could save her. If it was not for him, she would still be fighting the Black Dragon now, screaming in pain and…

She put a hand over her mouth and closed her eyes in terror. He had seen it. Brynjolf had seen her there, bare and helpless at the hands of a possessed Khajiit who craved to humiliate her utterly and make her succumb to him. He had seen him touch her chest and thighs, play with her body in a twisted amusement, make her moan with pain and, as she realized in shock, pleasure… and maybe he had seen their mouths join in that lustful kiss which she still felt burning her lips and petrifying her body except for her heart which threatened to throb its way out of her chest.

 _Bravo, World-Eater,_ she thought bitterly, shaking against the cold wall behind her back. _You did manage to humiliate me after all. How am I going to face him? I can't say a word to him. Not about this…_

She got up at once and picked up her daedric armor, putting it on hastily, ignoring the unpleasant feeling of Ri'saad's tunic folding up beneath it. She did not even notice the strange shape of the left gauntlet as some of the thin horn-like protrusions were missing. Having taken her swords and put Brynjolf's bow over her back along with the quiver that went with it, she rushed through the complex back to the terrace, the snow that covered it blinding her in the midday sun. A clump of energy welled up in her and Aislinn felt like exploding at once. She wanted to scream and vent it but suppressed the need, knowing that she would attract unwanted attention.

She took the narrow bridge on her left spanning over a shelfy hollow and the stairs which led up to the entrance to Kilkreath Ruins and rushed through the door. Hopping through the tunnel and over the stairways, traversing a vast room with several stone bridges and wooden ramps, she made her way through the maze and entered the catacombs. There she stood at the very beginning of the tunnel and finally screamed from the top of her lungs.

"Curse you, Alduin! Take my energy, take my body and my soul, for all I care… but you took my dignity as well! Oblivion take you! May you die a horrible death in its fires! I detest you… and I will kill you once and for all!"

She breathed heavily but the pain in her chest slowly dulled. Her frame slid along the wall, she sat down on the floor and took off her helmet, studying the crevices between the stones under her feet absent-mindedly. The echo of her own voice still reverberated in her head, accompanied by the silent humming of the beacons in the chamber ahead, but aside from that, it was fairly quiet and she was allowed to listen to the cacophony of her own thoughts swirling about in her mind. First Lucia, then Brynjolf and her humiliation… and now a new one sprang to life in her head, pulling her down like a burden of the size of whole Nirn which it truly was.

 _"I will kill you once and for all!"_ she had cried. But that surely was impossible. Slowly she started realizing the cruelty of her fate. She was bound to the World-Eater. Sooner or later they would become one, just as he had wanted, but the other way around.

 _"The thing is that unless you devour the soul of the World-Eater, he's going to keep coming back."_

Devour his soul, that was what Sinawen had said. He could not be defeated. No dragon could. Their souls resided in herself, tugging at the strings of her sanity, the only soothing voice in her being Paarthurnax. And how vexing it must be for them to be deprived of their freedom, stripped of their winged frames to be squeezed in her fragile human form which would never soar. How agonizing to look at the world from the solid binding ground, to have to gaze with eyes small as two pearls and watch the tree branches from below. And she did feel their frustration, the fear of the dark constricted space in her soul which had closed its tight walls around them.

 _Paarthurnax,_ she called to him in her thoughts and waited, but the answer did not come. She was afraid of the future, for whatever it would bring, it would not be anything pleasant. It was either be defeated and become one with the World-Eater, or be victorious and force the Black Dragon to become one with her.

 _Paarthurnax,_ she called again, her inner voice trembling with agitation. _What do I do?_

But again, the inside of her mind and soul was quiet, as if her teacher refused her. She felt a little betrayed and a feeling of emptiness crept into her mind. The paralyzing pain in her heart returned and she sighed with uneasiness.

Then, the door beside her burst open suddenly and she raised her head in alarm, finding herself staring into Brynjolf's face which shifted at once from a frightened expression to sheer fury, the pale shade of his cheeks quickly turning bright red as the hot blood flushed in.

"What are you doing here?" he snapped at her without proper greeting.

She was silent, startled by his sudden rage and the way he had talked to her, so different from his usual demeanor. She felt her heart shrink and ache with sudden insecurity, fearing the angry sparks in his eyes even more than she feared Alduin.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated and his voice turned dangerously low. "Do you know how long I was looking for you?!"

 _Now, or when Marilis dragged me away?_ she wondered in her thoughts but did not dare pronounce it. And it did not matter, for the red-haired thief was utterly enraged with her and she was sure he had grown fed up with babysitting her.

"Are you going to answer? Or have you turned mute? Or deaf? Did the World-Eater rid you of your senses?!"

She wanted to answer but could not find the words, nor would she be able to overcome the heavy clump which had settled in her throat. Maybe he had wanted to say "your senses _as well_ "? In a way, yes, Alduin had rid her of her senses. Her current situation was maddening and she felt like she was losing herself even more than before. Without even thinking, she got up on her feet and backed away. She was afraid of confronting Brynjolf and more than anything she wanted to seclude herself and hide from his wrath.

Then, when he stepped forward, she just turned around and darted away.

"Stop!" he called to her. "Don't run away, just…"

He gave up and followed her, chasing her wildly around. There was nothing beyond the curved tunnel but a wide chamber with a locked door on the other side and three beacons, the one in the middle standing on a large stepped platform. She circled it and rushed back to the tunnel, trying to outrun the thief and reach the ruins before he could catch a glimpse of her. Upon entering the upper level, she rushed to one of the wooden ramps in the central chamber, climbed it quickly and entered a small room behind a trapped door, stepping aside to avoid a number of spikes shooting from the ground as it opened. She closed it behind her again but it made no difference. The thief found her immediately, panting a lot less than the still exhausted Dragonborn.

She was driven into a corner. Suppressing the sudden urge to draw her swords elicited partially by the beast that she half was, she backed to the corner created by the rear wall and the wooden shelf on her right. Now there was no way out and she wanted to just disappear. The feeling of helplessness took over her and she cringed to the wall behind her, closing her eyes, for she refused to look at her pursuer and guardian in one.

There was a moment of silence, deep and heavy as she awaited the storm of his rage fall upon her. Then she felt him drag her back on her feet and his arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. She opened her eyes at once but could only see the back of his red mop.

"I am sorry," he said quietly, his voice even hoarser than usual. "It's just… I can't even imagine… I'm so sorry. You are so hurt… and I'm so scared."

"Of what?" Aislinn finally managed to speak to him, however cracked her voice sounded.

"Of losing you," he whispered, and with that he pushed her back slightly and his lips met hers in a sweet gentle kiss which vacated Aislinn's mind faster than a strike to the head.

* * *

 _So… my job went well and very fast, I also managed to play some League of Legends, have a good long walk, fill my boyfriend's stomach and read a good deal of Anne McCaffrey's Chronicles of Pern (do read them if you haven't, it's just so beautiful!). And the chapter still wrote itself so I'm starting to think my life is pretty amazing. :D_

 _This chapter is full of emotions which, I think, is kind of new in the story, but I'd say it's important for Aislinn and Brynjolf to sort things out a little. That said, they still won't have it easy._

 _Now for some entertainment – I had this conversation with a certain friend of mine which really made me laugh:_

 ** _Friend:_** _My sister expressed concern for you… she says you might be addicted to Skyrim since she always sees you in game when she logs in to her Steam account._  
 ** _Me:_** _Well… you see, I don't really play. I'm just writing a freaking long fanfic and every time I need to study the land or anything in the game, I have to play the game. And then I just let it on since I don't want to have to exit it and then launch it again after a while._  
 ** _Friend:_** _I see. Well, she's just jealous anyway, apparently she really wanted to play Skyrim but still doesn't have the game. So, how did it occur to you to write a Skyrim fanfic?_  
 ** _Me:_** _Cuz I love the world._  
 ** _Friend:_** _Is it so awesome? I don't play so I don't know, I just saw a few videos and I like the sceneries._  
 ** _Me:_** _It's epic as hell and there's that sexy guy in the Thieves Guild which definitely has to be paired up with my character._  
 ** _Friend:_** _So… is your character a guy?_  
 ** _Me:_** _NO!_  
 ** _Friend:_** _Awww. My sister guessed a fanfic about gay mages._

 _Uhm… so, no, I will NOT write a fanfic about gay mages. :D You see, some of you might have noticed that I actually do have two boys love fics published here… but I'm not such a hardcore yaoi fangirl to see crappy gay pairings where they are not. And I am straight and I made Aislinn a lot after myself so… yeah. :D_

 _To the Guest who kindly commented on my last chapter: Thank you for clarifying your last review. I feel honored to receive your first review here and even more honored to earn my fanfic a comparison to a novel. Wow. Thank you!_

 _To everyone: I hope you liked the chapter and thanks for reading it. Reviews, favs, likes etc. much appreciated. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	21. The Unsettling Feelings

**Chapter 21: The Unsettling Feelings**

Elenwen was sweating hard. The golden-haired woman with equally golden eyes was not used to this kind of treatment but since she needed the Black Dragon to cooperate, she could not afford to enforce her authority like she usually did when dealing with the Thalmor. Her sharp-featured face looked even sterner than usual as she furrowed her almost invisible brows, marching back and forth through the laboratory.

"You have humiliated me," Alduin hissed in exasperation. He put too much power into the words and felt a part of the throat of his current vessel crumble away. Although he did not exactly _feel_ the way mortals did, it was not a pleasant experience for him. Human bodies were awfully weak and he hated those frail shells which were barely sufficient to host a fragment of his power. There was only one human body which could contain it. He had had it at his grasp… and the blasted elves had let it slip away before he could claim it.

It was a mere thief, an elven woman and a filthy human cub. Somehow they had managed to get into the most guarded place in all Tamriel and save his prey. How could they have gotten past the guards? Where had they been at that time? Only three Squires remained, the cowards who had believed themselves to have power… but the rotstones were not power, they were a curse which went against the nature of dragons and the nature of life itself. Even Akatosh himself disapproved of them. They made him feel sick and powerless and so he had been forced to escape and risk being exposed. It did not matter. Many of the Thalmor knew of him by now and countless disputes had broken out once they had learned it.

"I do apologize, Lord Alduin," Elenwen said in a low voice.

"Apology won't give me back my body," he snarled. "Just where were your famed guards when those impostors were crawling their way in like the insufferable insects which they truly are?"

"We have been tricked," she explained miserably. "There was supposed to be a meeting but somebody made it known that it would take place ahead of the original schedule and summoned most of the guards who were on duty at that time under the threat that I would execute them. When I came, everyone had been gathered there for hours."

"You mean to tell me that somebody tricked your petty association and made your minions believe that you had issued orders for everyone to gather?" the rotten body asked her hoarsely and Elenwen suppressed the need to turn away in disgust. She tugged the lowest of the three buckles holding the collar of her elegant black robes together, which was a habit she conducted without fail every time she was uncertain about something.

"There is someone who wields powerful mind-controlling magic," she said with a smirk. "I had been fooled right from the start. Someone directed the Dragonborn to Markarth, I am sure about that, and it was thanks to them that she managed to escape from there. And that individual is one of us."

"You are pathetic," Alduin spat, leaving out the fact that it was his former right hand who had caused his own downfall back when the Tongues had banished him from the Time. And he was dead now. He had sensed him from the Dragonborn, his presence clearly emanating from her. But he had not been hostile or perfidious towards her and so she could not have been the one to have killed him.

It did not make sense, though. According to what he knew, no-one should have known about Paarthurnax except for the Greybeards and maybe the Blades. The Blades would never expose it to anyone, of that he was sure, for he knew their stubborn loyalty to their principles all too well. Their members had always been chosen with utmost prudence and only the strongest and most single-minded individuals would be allowed to enter their circle. So who could have known? Who besides these two groups of people could have gained access to such information?

The dragons who, most likely, would not be willing to share any kind of information with mortals… and the Dragon Priests. His Dragon Priests. But the Dragon Priests were mostly men and definitely not high elves, and they had come from the distant land of Atmora to…

It was all there. Now it made sense and his temporary body clenched its fists in the outrage brought about by the sudden realization. Such arrogance! How dare he belittle him like that, how dare he even think about the possibility of using his own power, the power of the World-Eater himself, against him! He would see to it that this impudent elf pays with his life.

"He is not one of you," the dragon stated quietly.

"Does he use illusions to even conceal his own identity?" Elenwen asked, startled.

"He does not need to. He might as well look the same as you, especially as the ones from the old Houses."

Elenwen shot him a doubtful glance and tugged her buckle again. "You don't mean to tell me…"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, mortal," he snapped impatiently. "Your traitor is an Aldmer and believe me, you have no chance of defeating that one if he has been around for so long. And I would not have it so. You will find him and lead him to me when the time is right. For now, you go and send your people to the north-west of Hjaalmarch. The Dragonborn is heading there."

"How do you know?" she asked him, gaining a spiteful look from him.

"Mind your tongue, weakling," he grumbled and she instinctively stepped back. "Question my knowledge once more and I will have you replaced in a very painful way. I do believe there is high competition among your kind for the post you're occupying at the moment."

She blinked in surprise and sudden fear crept into her face, clouding it in a shade of pale grey. He had been quite generous and almost obedient when she had found him, but lately his attitude had been getting unbearably imperious and there were traces of independency in his tone which had not been there before. She was sure that he was gaining power, little by little, from those sacrifices he so contemptuously proclaimed weaklings. Elenwen wondered if the rotstones would be enough to hold him in place once the Dragonborn had been devoured, but she had no choice but to wager on it. The Dominion needed the power of the Dragon Blood for only this power identified the true ruler of Tamriel. And this time, it would finally be her kin taking over.

She knew he would not be telling her more and so she turned her heel and walked away, touching a pair of rotstones in her pocket unconsciously. Her mood was awful, for it seemed like everything in the world was trying to get in her way. The Dragonborn escaping right under her nose, a mysterious Aldmer toying with all the Dominion (just how old did he have to be?!), an infuriated dragon who was refusing to share the secret about the said First One… and then there were the Forsworn who had so _conveniently_ decided to aid the Dragonborn in conquering Skyrim. She was starting to hate Arethil, her new Squire. He always did his job perfectly but never brought her good news. First Sinawen, a mere errand girl, plotting secretly against the Thalmor _and_ escaping, and now she was dead and it was impossible to interrogate her. Then the Forsworn who had been discovered thanks to a fickle Argonian thief… what would be next?

She was pacing through the wide sandstone corridor, the bottom part of her robes which was open at the front in a wide slit flipping about her wildly. Upon entering the hexagonal chamber forking into several directions, she turned left and took a narrow tunnel which ascended into the assembly room and further to a smaller complex of chambers she was using for various purposes, mostly personal. A woman of smaller figure with a mop of unsightly curly hair of the color of sand and a timid expression in her round face blocked her way and gestured in greeting. Elenwen hated half-breeds like her. There was no place for them, especially not in the Dominion ranks. Nevertheless, there were always some who tried to creep their way in, either in their greed for power, or for personal reasons, such as protecting their favorite nephew. They would not care about the nephew's duties, being driven only by their own selfish obsession.

"Lady Elenwen," she called to her shyly, her eyes fixed on the fluttering shadow of her body on the marble ground, cast by a torch behind her.

"What is it?" Elenwen uttered curtly. She was in no mood to listen to the heartbreaking cries of a lousy half-breed.

"Lord Arethil wants to see you," the woman informed her hesitantly. "He says it's urgent."

And this was the last thing she wanted to hear. She looked at the midget contemptuously, sparks of fury raging from her eyes, and watched her step back in fear. Without another word, she moved past her and marched on.

The short-haired elf was leaning against the wall of a small antechamber which preceded the assembly room, decorated with a series of Dominion banners, the eagle in their center proudly spreading its wings as if it was beckoning to soar. He wore his usual composed expression, confidence emanating from his face and posture. Still, he was not in the least cheerful and Elenwen knew he would bring more negative news to her. She joined him without a greeting, grimly expecting what he was about to say.

"I salute you, Lady Elenwen," he bowed slightly, sparing her excessive courtesy.

"Arethil," she nodded simply.

"A little privacy would not come amiss," he suggested and she made for the corridor leading to her private chambers, which was the only sign of agreement she was willing to give out. He followed her at a close distance and soon they arrived in a cozy carpeted room with windows opening to the south-east. A small mahogany desk was situated near the far end window and several ornate chairs were scattered around it. Elenwen locked the door behind her companion and seated herself in one of the chairs. Arethil did not take one. Instead, he stood by the window, watching the clouds on the eastern side float aimlessly, his face lit by the passing sun. He looked ageless and Elenwen wondered, as she did often, if he used magic to conceal his age. Such magic was forbidden, of course, but she now knew of at least one person who stood oblivious to such rules and still managed to escape punishment.

"So?" she asked abruptly. "What did you bring?"

"You won't like my report," he informed her with an imperceptible smirk and his hand slid along the varnished wooden sill under the window.

"What a surprise," she pointed sarcastically. "Out with it."

"Jarl Elisif and General Tullius managed to escape from Solitude."

Elenwen's composed mask crumbled and her face went pale as death.

"They WHAT?!" she squealed inadvertently.

"Someone organized a huge riot to distract us and they were pretty thorough. All the traces are gone, people are pointing at each other. Interrogation did not bring any results. We don't even have any reliable subjects. I am suspecting the Thieves Guild. Apart from those two, there are several other people who went missing, but if my information is correct, they did not disappear at once. There must be a secret passage leading from Solitude – presumably more than one of them. I only have one lead… but he is one slippery bastard. It was my mistake. I was trailing him but I underestimated the resources of the Guild."

He shook his head helplessly.

Elenwen was furious and under normal circumstances, she would have just killed the man. But Arethil was different from others and she needed him. Thalmor was already falling apart and she could not afford to lose one of the few who stayed true to its cause. She sighed in resignation.

"Is it true that we can command dragons?" he asked, expectation reflecting in his face.

"They are fickle friends. And we cannot command them," she said wearily. "The World-Eater can. Give him more leeway and he's going to go on rampage."

She could see the questions in his eyes. Everybody had questions. Why would the World-Eater want to stay in human body if he could easily take a dragon? But he would not explain that to her either. Elenwen suspected it had something to do with the dragons' nature of being almost purely competitive when it came to power. He never communicated with the dragons directly and she thought it suspicious but dared not question him outright.

"I don't think we have a choice here," he said quietly.

She stared at him for a long while before nodding slowly in approval.

"Call the Squires and the initiates to the assembly room. Oh," she added sourly, "and bring that Bosmer as well. Do let him know that this was his last assignment on the way. And bring me my tools from the old days."

"Oh? How long has it been since you last got your hands dirty?" he smirked.

"I'm in a very bad mood. And do refrain from unnecessary judgements if you feel sorry for the filthy Woodling," she hissed in warning as she rose and unlocked the door.

He gave her a mysterious smile before walking out of the room.

* * *

Aislinn pulled off abruptly, covering her mouth with both of her hands. She watched the thief with a trace of apprehension and he was sure that she was remembering something unpleasant. Perhaps he had acted too rashly. Perhaps she needed more time. In his desperate concern and precipitate chase after her he had forgotten that she had been abused recently and had probably suffered more than just physical injuries. What had she seen when he had kissed her? A rotten body of what had once been a Khajiit merchant, crawling over her and toying with her as if she was a doll made to satisfy his twisted desires? He felt like throwing up at that image. What must it have been like for her? He wanted to embrace her once again but was aware that it might hurt her even more, and so he stayed still and waited.

She looked at him with sudden caution but there was also a more than evident hint of apology in her gaze. Why would she apologize to him?

"I am sorry," he said to her finally. "Are you… are you feeling okay?"

"Me?" she asked as though she did not understand the question. He raised his brows. "Don't you…" she hesitated, obviously troubled by whatever was on her mind to the point when she was scared to articulate it.

He gestured to the ground and she sat down with a nod. He joined her, creating a slight distance between them so she would not feel threatened. She took a deep breath.

"Don't you find me… filthy?" she whispered at last. He stared at her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry?" he said without thinking.

"After that… after what happened down there in the lab…" her voice was now a mere rustle of the breeze in the treetops and it had the bitter flavor of infinite despair.

Filthy… she was scared that he would become contemptuous of her just because someone else had tried to make a pass on her. No, that could not even be counted as making a pass, that person… or a dragon, in this case, had tried to thoroughly humiliate her. And she, the ever so proud Dragonborn that he knew to be the strongest person walking the lands of Nirn, had yielded to that attempt.

"Do you feel humiliated?" he questioned in astonishment, purposely avoiding any oblique hints that he was sure she would not respond to, and watched her jerk a little.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway, even if I denied it," she uttered quietly.

"I still want to hear it," he insisted firmly.

She shot him a reproachful look and he could feel the colorful spectrum of names she called him secretly in her thoughts.

"I do feel humiliated," she sighed in resignation.

"I hate to disappoint you," he said and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly, "but we thieves don't see that many things as filthy. And not rarely we judge based on experience."

He watched with amusement as her expression turned from timid to sheer shock, and then sudden relief took over her and she laughed.

"So much information in that last sentence," she said with a shake of her head. "Maybe a little too much, Master Thief?"

"Well, you barely ask about me," he replied with a shrug, "and I just felt like sharing a little. Don't shut yourself off in your own small world. You deserve better."

Brynjolf noticed a flush make its way to her cheeks and dye them in a beautiful scarlet color and his lips curled in a subtle smile. Then it disappeared and his brows furrowed a little.

"Did I make you relive it again?" he inquired solicitously.

She hesitated.

"You don't have to be considerate of me. Just tell me."

"A little," she muttered.

 _Translation: You did,_ he thought to himself sourly. There were times when she was obnoxiously straightforward, but whenever something ailed her, she would instead try to act overly thoughtful.

He was thinking. It could be something he had done, or maybe she had just remembered incidentally, forced by the sudden flood of emotions and proximity. Either way, he decided he would not give up. Not now. She had not turned him down or refused him in any way and he had enough of waiting.

"Then," he said silently, carefully selecting his tone not to sound too demanding but not too indifferent either, "maybe I should work hard so your mind doesn't stray away." He watched her put up that familiar cautious expression she so liked to wear when she was unsure, but continued nevertheless. "Maybe I should capture you like I would capture a bird in the cage so you don't fly and waver, and grasp your heart so firmly that it would not have the room to feel humiliation again."

He examined her, with her mouth open ajar in a pair of thin attractive curves joined together in two gentle hollows creating soft and inviting shadows, barely breathing. The pupils of her eyes were widened in intent expectation, making her golden irises sparkle in contrast. By no means was this woman filthy, no. Right now, Brynjolf felt as though he was facing the most astonishing being in all Mundus. There was no fault to her, not the wide jaws that most of men would find unappealing, but to him they were the mighty supports which underlined her strong character. Not her slightly bigger nose either, for it reflected her honorable spirit, or the short hair that carelessly flew about her, a silky waving symbol of her freedom. Not her broad shoulders, the rock-solid evidence of how unbreakable she was, and not her waist which curved elegantly into the lower parts of her body just as a swan would curve her neck when she was about to soar. And her legs like two slender pillars which turned her into a graceful dancer when she was facing an enemy. He was convinced that out of all the people in the world, he knew her the best, he could tell every movement of hers, predict her reactions and read her feelings like an open book… and still, he enjoyed learning more, studying her like the most curious mystery there was.

They spent a while staring at each other in absolute silence, the air around them tense in anticipation. And then, Brynjolf moved slowly towards her and accepted the unspoken invitation. His lips made their way to the left corner of her mouth and brushed it gently as if they were nothing more than a morning breeze caressing her skin. She froze and stiffened under his touch and he thought himself shameless for a split second for using it to pull her closer and slide his left hand along her right cheek playfully. His lips went up until they reached her left eye and made her close it slowly before touching her eyelid softly. Then down again, and he did not fail to register her fairly long eyelashes which fluttered slightly and made him shiver in excitement he could not suppress. He bit her lower lip faintly and felt a vibe come down her body. She raised her hand, and for a moment Brynjolf feared she would push him away in rejection, but she never did. Instead, she buried it into his red hair and her lips parted.

Again, he took the invitation, carefully savoring her and making sure she received an equal share of that sweet and delicate taste. She was insecure and he sensed it, and only slowly she allowed him to grasp her heart, uneasy in remembrance of her recent experience, but there was also something else to it. He could sense her hesitation, as if she was walking down a steep path and was not sure which rock she could rely on to carry her weight. Her lips moved bashfully, quietly studying his, examining and testing little by little how far they could go. The sensation was driving him crazy but he also felt a selfish satisfaction over her inexperience. How pure she was, unlike him. Now he knew that there were places she was afraid to step into, places that he knew and she did not, and it made his heart jump for joy.

And again, he took advantage of it, taking control and guiding her along. He cursed her armor which separated the rest of her body from him, but at the same time he appreciated it for he was close to give in to his most primitive desires. He had seen her body before and it had carved itself into his memory quite exhaustively. The recollection alone made him hungry for more and he had to put up a fair amount of effort to restrain himself in order not to scare the lass. But she was slowly melting under his tender touch, giving in to the desires she had had no idea of possessing. Only with a great deal of self-repression did he finally pull away, his fingers running friskily over her cheek and lips for the last time.

She was speechless, her eyes fixed on him in a curiously dumbfounded expression, and he let out a silent chuckle of amusement.

"Lass," he whispered in her ear and enjoyed the sight of her jerking and almost jumping out in shock.

She shot him a quick glance but then turned away shyly. He reached out for her, seizing her chin and turning her face towards him.

"Look at me," he invited and she raised her head hesitantly. "How do you feel now?" he asked her gently, giving her room to back away, although he knew she wouldn't.

"Who are you," she breathed and pierced him with eyes like two wells of infinity, "and what did you do with Brynjolf?"

"Now that's a bit harsh," he said with an impish smile. "Even the thieves can be gentle, you know. They even have it in their job description." He winked at her.

"It's… better," she admitted reluctantly.

"No more humiliation," he said sternly with a raised finger. "It doesn't suit you."

She smiled apologetically and Brynjolf suppressed the urge to push her down on her back that very instant and continue where he had left off.

"I think we better go back and see how Lucia's doing," she proposed after a moment of silence. "And I guess I should do some hunting. I'm afraid I ate your last supplies."

A sheepish smile flashed over her lips for a split second.

Brynjolf put a hand over her forehead and shook his head.

"Leave it to me," he told her with a frown. "Your fever has not subsided completely. You need to rest."

She opened her mouth to issue a protest but he pressed his finger against her lips and gave her a scolding look.

"A Dragonborn is not the same as a god," he told her starkly. "You die if you strain yourself too much."

She sighed as he took his bow and quiver back from her. They rose and walked slowly through the great chamber opening beyond the door, heading to the passageway and the terrace beyond it.

Aislinn's thoughts were grim again, sobering up from the sweet sensation of Brynjolf claiming both her mind and body for himself.

 _"I'm scared of losing you."_

Was he serious? So did he love her? There was no escape this time, she had to face her own feelings. She did not respond to him in any way and he would probably press her for an answer in time, but what was she supposed to tell him? She was scared of losing him as well, but maybe she was even more scared of hurting him. The path of the Dragonborn was a lone one. She would have to face countless enemies who would try to claim her power for themselves or just eliminate a bothersome obstacle out of their way, not to mention dealing with a loathsome black dragon who would occupy her being eventually. The thought made her shiver in a mixture of fear and disgust. The thief beside her obviously noticed it, for he gave her a concerned look, but she ignored it and continued walking.

 _Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn  
To keep evil forever at bay!  
And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout  
Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!_

The lyrics rose in her mind as if they were always there, a song of an ancient prophecy. _To keep evil forever at bay!_ But she was just a human and humans don't live forever. What would happen when she died? Would Alduin regain his dragon form and devour the world at last? Or would he just dissipate and be lost for eternity? In the end, it all came back down to the Akaviri of the old and their foretelling. But the only legacy they had left behind were the carvings on Alduin's wall, and if there wasn't a hidden part of it somewhere, Esbern had pretty much revealed everything there was to her. No-one knew much of the Akaviri nowadays, except maybe for Paarthurnax who kept stubbornly silent, and some remaining Dragon Priests and they were not exactly the talkative kind. She clenched her fists unconsciously when the image of the tall hooded figure of the mysterious High Elf Dragon Priest flashed through her mind.

"What are you thinking about?" Brynjolf inquired, pacing steadily at her side.

"The blasted Altmer who killed Paarthurnax," she growled quietly.

"According to Sinawen, he's not an Altmer," he corrected.

"I don't care what he is," she hissed dangerously. "I'm going to kill him."

"He's an Aldmer," he continued, ignoring the spiteful comment which, in fact, made him uneasy.

"I said I don't…" she froze in the middle of the sentence. "What did you just say?"

"An Aldmer," he repeated. "The First One."

"Did she mention his age?"

"Around four thousand years, she said, but I think she was not too sure herself. Apparently it was a miracle she knew his name."

"And that name is…"

"Andariath Torelloy."

"A strange name," Aislinn mused. "But I guess that goes with him being an Aldmer. Still, that proves Delvin's theory about the new Dragon Cult wrong. And somehow I don't think he belongs to the old Cult either."

"Why's that?"

"Because he would have a reason to fear approaching Alduin if he did. The Dragon Priests used to be the World-Eater's servants and he would eliminate any traitor had he the chance to do so."

"So who do you think he _is_?" Brynjolf asked and she watched him shudder in discomfort as the topic clearly drove him anxious. A feeling of guilt settled in her heart and Aislinn had the itch to ask him to return to his preferred lifestyle once again. She knew he would refuse but could not help but feel sorry for him.

"I don't know," she sighed helplessly. "He's clearly not with the Thalmor and he's not with Alduin either. If he was on our side, he wouldn't have killed Paarthurnax. It looks like he takes no sides… but what does he want from me?"

"We might learn more when we actually get our hands on the Elder Scroll," the thief told her. She noticed a poor attempt to sound reassuring but appreciated it nevertheless.

"Speaking of which," she turned to Brynjolf with a worried look as she remembered the Elder Scrolls that were supposed to be in her possession, "any idea what happened to my backpack?"

"Karliah is probably holding onto it."

"Then I hope she doesn't do anything risky. And best if she doesn't look inside."

"What do you have there? A weapon for instant death?"

"More like instant madness," she smirked dryly.

Brynjolf gave her a questioning look but she did not speak another word. They continued in silence across the terrace and then to the temple. A silent moan reached them as they entered the vast chamber with the benches and Aislinn hurried to its source.

Lucia was still sleeping in the small room at the back, twisting and turning as she wailed in her sleep. Brynjolf's head appeared in the door as he leaned to the doorframe but Aislinn paid him no attention. She knelt beside the little girl and patted her shoulder gently while stroking her head with the other hand.

"Brother… Martin…" Lucia uttered in her sleep and Aislinn wondered whom she could be talking about. She continued her attempts to wake her until her adoptive daughter opened her eyes, trembling slightly as she rose on her elbows.

"Mama," she breathed tremulously.

"It's okay, Luce," Aislinn said in a comforting voice. "I'm here."

The girl looked at her hesitantly and then fixed her gaze on the linen wraps covering the lower part of her body, a sudden flash of pain reflecting in her face.

"Who's brother Martin?" Aislinn asked her gently.

Her eyes widened, she raised her head and their eyes met, but then she shook her head.

"I don't know." Her voice sounded broken and Aislinn felt a painful stab in the heart.

"Then what were you dreaming about?"

"I don't remember," Lucia said hoarsely. And then, suddenly, she put her face in her hands and quiet sobs echoed through the room. Aislinn pulled her closer and hugged her tightly, running her hand through her hair softly.

"It's okay," she whispered. "Everything will be okay."

Just what had happened to her little girl? What had they done to her? Whatever it was, she would smite the one who had made her suffer like this. No-one would touch the Dragonborn's beloved daughter and go unpunished. No-one.

* * *

 _Hello again!_

 _So… most of you probably noticed that Fanfiction-net went through a big crash and the service was down for a day or so. It wasn't the first time and even after that, some of the features (like search, filters or the listing of stories in selected categories) kept breaking down. Therefore I got a little worried for my stories and decided to do a backup and to create my own fanfiction website where I would post them. So I would like to invite you to_ **fanfiction-sekai-cz** _(replace the dashes with dots, FF-net doesn't allow links to be published anywhere on their website). You can read my stories there, comment on them, send me a message or subscribe to new chapters without registering. I will always post my chapters here_ and _on my website so whenever the system falls, you can just go and check it out over there._

 _Hopefully that helps._

 _Thanks for following/favoriting and reviewing my story and see you around. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	22. When Shadows Take Over

**Chapter 22: When Shadows Take Over**

The Hunter felt that she was getting close, but her target kept slipping away like water right through her hands. She had to admit that the Thieves Guild's agents were unbelievably capable, and they had grown exceptionally cautious ever since the incident with the lost Khajiit caravan had taken place. The rest of the caravans had disappeared soon after and they only made an appearance when dealing with one of the Thieves Guild. Then they vanished again as though they had never existed in the first place. She knew there was a vast network of checkpoints and paths which connected them that the Guild was using to transfer supplies and information, but the checkpoints moved every once in a while. There had to be a pattern since the Guild members obviously did not need to communicate in order to understand the system and adjust their actions and movement immediately. This establishment had to be something that had been in effect even before the Thalmor had taken over.

She moved quietly along the flat rocks which created a low shelf tilting over one of the treacherous marshes presenting the majority of the vast delta through which the Hjaal River flowed into the Sea of Ghosts. She could not decide if she liked the Hjaalmarch hold or if the constant mist irritated her. For someone like her, such a place was perfect for hiding and tracking people completely unnoticed, for she knew the secret passages between the marshes, and the trees, rocky steps and platforms hanging over the soft hollows offered a great deal of means to hide herself. But she was now tracking her own kind and knew that they had the same options as she did, if not the advantage for they might be even more familiar with the place. Still, there were several people who would slow them down and there was no way that the general of the Imperial army or the self-appointed would-be High Queen of Skyrim would be able to conceal their movements just as well as the thieves did. Unless, of course, they had been granted some unbelievably powerful magic. And there was only one person that crossed her mind when it came to powerful magic that would be useful for the thieves.

She should have killed the Khajiit woman when she had had the chance. The Black Malkin, as she had personally named her, was always ahead of her, concealing all the traces of her movement so brilliantly that the Hunter was left absolutely clueless. But she had needed the woman to return to the Whiterun army so no doubts would arise before the dragon came down on them. Still, most of them had been saved by the Dragonborn and she had to secretly laugh at the Thalmor for not having taken that into account.

The Argonian agent was starting to question the Thalmor methods. It was true that the Nords were sturdy warriors, the Empire was a proud and unyielding nation and neither would give up what they thought rightfully theirs without a fight. Occupation was not easy, for most of the citizens just stubbornly refused to collaborate. But this war was getting tedious and there were disputes even among the elves. Now that they had learnt about Alduin and his involvement, the only way to keep order in their ranks was to threaten them with the possibility of the Black Dragon punishing them for potential betrayal. There was a certain beauty to it but she would have preferred the World-Eater to stay out of this completely. After all, he was not to be let loose.

She shook her head to chase the overwhelming amount of thoughts out of her mind and focused on her work. She was sure that a Guild path had to run through this area and her target would be taking it. There was a great number of shady spots which would be perfect for the Khajiit to hide in and it disconcerted her slightly. She studied all of them, her wand ready in her hand, although she was sure that the Malkin would resist its magic. Despite what it looked like, the artifact only attacked the victim's mind, and there was no doubt that the black-furred woman would have powerful barriers raised around hers. She was just like her, a powerful mage controlling illusions as if it was the most natural thing to do. And maybe it was for her.

There was a cave nearby and the Hunter quickly checked her surroundings before entering it. Apart from a bear which she did not exactly want to encounter at the moment, there was nothing suspicious inside and so she made her way out and turned right to continue southeast. But then something caught her attention and her nimble figure shifted on her feet. She looked back at the cave and discovered an almost unnoticeable crevice in its wall. It was partly hidden by a curtain of lichen which spread around the rock in all directions, and she had to silently compliment the Guild for making a secret passage in such an unlikely place. Yes, there had to be magic in it because there was no way that such a door would actually lead somewhere unless the space beyond it twisted and changed its character to something not of this world.

"Oh, sweet Nocturnal, you have really outdone yourself here," she whispered to herself wryly and examined the doorway. As this was something the Thieves Guild had created, or at least adjusted to their needs, she was sure that there had to be a lock somewhere. She ran her fingers around the crevice which created a natural doorframe and tried to locate an irregularity, but found nothing. There was nothing on the colorless ground under her feet either, nor did she discover a single clue on the opposite wall. Surely the Thieves Guild would not be so foolish to actually place a lock or a lever inside the cave so the passage would have to stay open until they reached it from there. Or would they?

Finally, on the far side of a protrusion on the right side of the passage, her deft fingers found a shadowmark. She had studied them before, having managed to steal a copy of their guide from a sloppy thief in Solitude before, but this one was not similar to any of them. It was a triangle with a spiral inside, and she had the feeling that she had seen a symbol of the sort before but could not recall where or when. A spiral. What could a spiral mean?

She touched the rock creating the door and slid her fingers along it, from top to bottom and back again, studying every inch of it. She must be really close, but there was something missing… She paused to think when she heard a movement behind her. The footsteps stopped suddenly and then there was silence. She froze and listened carefully. Nothing seemed to move around. Cautiously she crept around the rocky shelf, making sure her blending armor concealed her, in the way she had heard the footsteps from. Then she noticed them again, swiftly pacing past her in the opposite direction, and promptly followed them. They were quiet, almost unnoticeable, a mere rustle of the wind would be able to drown them out and even if the air was still, an untrained ear would most probably not register them. Again, she praised the Guild for their almost unmatched skill and caution. Just almost.

The door opened and she did not know how. It just did and there was a figure entering it. The image was still blurry as the effect of the invisibility potion was slowly wearing off but she could recognize the slightly curved horns and jagged tail of one of her own kin. She sneaked past him nimbly, stepping into the tunnel beyond the door. There were no lights and she did not have the time to quickly adapt to the shade inside as the other person spotted her immediately and a pair of daggers flew past her in a breath-taking speed. She jumped back gracefully and raised her wand. Her opponent wavered but avoided the dagger she had pulled out of her shoe by inches, dancing around her so she now stood back to the door which had closed behind her. This was no weakling.

A dagger slid down her armor from under her left arm to the belly, leaving a thin mark on the mirror plate, and she barely avoided being stabbed in her stomach, pressing herself to the door and sidestepping into the corner on her right. The other dagger was waiting for her there and she blocked it with her own. Her right foot shot up to her enemy's crotch but the figure stepped back swiftly and circled her from her left. That was a mistake. She used the opportunity immediately to sidestep to her right again, slowly gaining advantage and driving her target into the other corner. The dagger in her right hand lunged towards the belly, her opponent jerked and she scratched the hip which replaced it. A sharp scream of pain followed. So her target was a man and he did not wear any armor.

Suddenly, a dim light appeared on the other side of the tunnel and its intensity increased as it got closer. The Hunter could see the man before her whom she recognized as Gulum-Ei, the treacherous Thieves Guild fence, bleeding from his side and panting heavily, but the wound was not serious enough to stop him from using the distraction to attack her fiercely. He aimed straight at her neck and she had to crouch speedily to avoid being slit. His figure jumped at her violently and pushed her to the ground, and she raised her dagger to stop his bulk from burying her. He leaped over her in the last split second to land behind her in a rather elegant tumble. A black-furred Khajiit appeared by his side in an instant, handing him a torch and drawing her own dagger.

"Now look who we have here," the Malkin smirked and shot the intruder a dangerous glance. "Are you the one they so conveniently call the Hunter?" Her voice was sweet and attractive, just as was her slender body, and the Hunter felt strangely drawn to it. She did not have to think hard to figure where the Khajiit's power came from and why the repulsive Argonian fence, who had so firmly convinced Lord Arethil about his loyalty to the Thalmor, had decided to join her.

Without waiting for an answer, the black-furred woman attacked.

The shadows of the two fighting antagonists moved as Gulum-Ei put the torch in a nearby torch holder and hurried deep into the tunnel. The Argonian knew she would not have much time before others came, and for once she feared her opponent. The Malkin was immensely fast on her nimble feet and not only could she use the shadows to conceal her presence, it seemed as though she could also command them to move as she wished and deceive her opponent, tricking her into thinking that she was standing at a different place. The Khajiit circled her cautiously, slightly bent in her knees, a dagger in her right hand while her left hand remained empty and stretched out for whatever reason.

The Hunter made a lunge toward the Malkin's chest but her opponent danced around her elegantly and twisted her wrist with her left hand. It took the Argonian all her energy to evade the dagger which slid along her body from behind and almost made its way in between her ribs. She quickly turned around to face the Khajiit and tumbled backwards when the dagger charged at her again. A kick, so conveniently aimed at her bottom as she turned in the air, knocked her to the ground and she ineptly landed on her back and gasped with pain, panting and looking up into the ice-blue eyes which stared at her from the sea of black. Without wasting a split second, she kicked back. Both of her feet flew up from the ground and hit the startled Khajiit in her stomach, sending her a short distance until she hit the door behind her.

Immediately, the Hunter sent a spark of magic into her armor and blended with her surroundings completely. The Malkin rose and her fair eyes roamed the place furiously, searching for a trace of her opponent. The Argonian set for the most dangerous path she could which was, incidentally the only way out of this situation. She crept along the wall inside the tunnel, covering her footsteps in a blanket of absolute silence. The Khajiit followed her instinctively, although unsure where to look exactly. She played with the shadows again, trying to outwit her opponent and drive her into a corner. But the catwoman was not the only smart being here and the Hunter would not let her get to her that easily. She sped up to a silent canter, leaning to the wall on her right. With a fright she realized that the path ahead was shrouded in darkness and she was forced to slow down again, weighing every step she was about to take. Then, a dagger pressed to her neck and she froze.

"I'll admit that you got guts, Hunter," the honeyed voice whispered in her ear, "but this is as far as you go."

"You wanna kill me, Malkin?" the Argonian hissed with a smirk that would be lost in the darkness.

"Malkin?" her opponent sneered in wry amusement. "I even got a nickname? Sweet, I feel honored. Now move it, nice and slow."

The Hunter took an uncertain step forward and the dagger moved to let her continue. The Khajiit's senses were well-trained, not even once did she hesitate, her hand was steady and unshaken as she moved it, the blade in it constantly touching her neck ever so slightly. She did not need a torch to see, apparently, or did not need to see in order to move. Or both, and considering the armor the Hunter was wearing which denied the Khajiit the option of spotting her even before having faded in the darkness, she would bet on the latter. Either way, this was by far the most dangerous situation she had gotten into ever since the Empire's attack on her family, and she silently chided herself for having underestimated her enemy dearly. The only way out was now to look for the slightest mistake her captor might make.

The mistake was not coming. She decided to risk and take a sudden step back, trampling the Khajiit's foot and crouching immediately. The Malkin responded promptly and she hissed in pain as the dagger, obviously enchanted with strengthening magic, slit through her helmet and scalped her slightly. The Argonian kicked back hard enough to send her opponent flying to the ground and sped up again. Light appeared before her and she could see a group of people of various races run towards her. The magic of her armor was still active but she knew they would spot her thanks to the bloody stain on her forehead. She took a slide along the wall, avoiding the enemies before they could realize what was happening.

"Behind you!" she could hear the black Khajiit call to them and they immediately turned around. The Hunter did not wait to face them and sprinted forward instead. She entered a complex of corridors and rooms built in massive grey bricks which seemed like a maze to her. Rushing through them blindly, she spotted a few figures sitting at a table in one of the bigger rooms. And there they were, the guests of the day. General Tullius in an excessively ornate armor, a gilded Imperial dragon proudly decorating his chest, with his hands leisurely put on the table was conversing quietly with sharp-featured but still somehow attractive Jarl Elisif, so different now that she wore a simple grey dress, cut right under her knees to make it easier to move. No tiara was decorating her wide forehead and holding her long chestnut-colored hair together, and her body, already delicate and slender before, had definitely lost some weight. But the grey-haired muscly Imperial next to her was the one who made the Hunter clench her fists in fury. She wanted to kill him. She strived for it from the bottom of her heart, but now was not the time to be making such uncertain decisions, knowing that her pursuers could kill her before she would even get to him. And so she kept running, taking turns blindly, hiding in the shadows and throwing her enemies into disarray.

Nevertheless, the Malkin kept tailing her closely, not allowing herself to be tricked by any kind of unexpected turn the Hunter made. Her persistence was getting on the Argonian's nerves and she grew impatient, craving to find an exit as soon as possible. There had to be a vent somewhere, for such a vast complex would not be inhabitable without a generous supply of fresh air, and she checked every crevice on her way just to find it. It had to be close. Somewhere very close…

She slowed moderately and looked up.

* * *

Farkhali kept running and the blasted Argonian woman kept slipping away. She sure was sneaky, skillfully eschewing making any kind of contact, light on her feet, which was probably not even necessary in the cacophony of noises which rose as the whole place got on their feet. She turned around quickly, signaling to Gulum-Ei to stop moving and relay the message to the others. If she was to catch her target, obviously the Hunter must not hear her calling to them. Fortunately, the sneaky fence had obviously understood her unspoken words for the place slowly but surely stilled itself. So did Farkhali as she closed her eyes and spread her consciousness into the walls and the uneven cobblestone floor.

Since her childhood, she had grown accustomed to moving in shadows, using them to her advantage whenever she could. The shadows, as she had perceived eventually, had a mind of their own and they could be commanded. She had never shared her secret with anyone, keeping it a personal advantage against possible traitors, believing it was a blessing of Nocturnal's bestowed exclusively upon her. Where there were shadows, she felt at home, and if there weren't any, she would just make some. She could feel them spreading, and her mind itself had become one the moment her eyelids drooped over her eyes. Every dark corner, every crevice or secluded place had become her ally, and so she soon spotted the movements of her target and commended her in her thoughts for finding the closest walk-through vent with stunning astuteness.

She darted immediately in her direction, knowing that letting the Hunter escape to the surface would be disastrous, given the current situation. With her eyes still closed, she quickly caught up to her, reaching her with an elegant tumble. Her left hand stretched out to support her as she jumped up on her feet and charged forward with her dagger ready. The Argonian was clearly at a disadvantage but her senses were just as sharp and the dagger missed her shoulder by inches. She was forced to sidestep to the wall on her right and react quickly as Farkhali danced around her, blocked her way and lunged from the side, attacking her neck. The Hunter ducked and simply pushed her from below, which was a movement the Khajiit had not been expecting. She quickly jumped backwards but could not avoid getting stabbed in the thigh. The dagger left a burning wound and Farkhali hissed in pain. She charged back, aiming at her opponent's stomach, but the Argonian simply jumped over her as she lost her balance, and made her way up the vent. She had to climb an iron ladder leading to a small mountainous area which was inaccessible from the outside, but since the injured thigh slowed Farkhali greatly, she could not keep up with her target.

"Nocturnal curse it!" she cussed as she watched her increase the distance between them. She would not be able to catch up to her until the Hunter got outside and there she would have a considerable advantage over her. Farkhali let her go, ripping the bottom part of her sarong to tie it around her thigh and stop the bleeding. Then she immediately turned around, staggering her way to the bigger room where general Tullius and Jarl Elisif were sitting with their backs straight, guarded by several people, two members of the Thieves Guild included.

"We have to get out of here," she commanded abruptly. "Now."

"But what about Morthal? Are we going to just drop all our plans and escape with our tails between our legs?" general Tullius objected, shooting the Khajiit a rebellious look.

"There is no plan anymore," she shook her head. "The Hunter discovered this place and outran me. She is going to find herself on the summit right above Morthal and it won't take them till dusk to dig this place out. We have to get out and bury this place."

"I am not running away this time," Elisif raised her voice in protest but Farkhali cut her off with a wave of her hand.

"This is no time for strained bravery, my Jarl," she said quietly. "If they find us here, everything is going to crumble. And by everything, I mean everything. There will be no supplies for Balgruuf anymore, the Guild will be discovered, no chance to buy Ais… the Dragonborn some time either. They will capture and interrogate us. I don't know about you but I don't have the ability to fend off a group of angry elven mages and I certainly don't trust myself to stand my ground when it comes to torture. Especially if they have those Squires with them, and there are sure to be some."

"You thieves have no shame," Tullius hissed. "Can't stand a bit of torture, you say? Can't you just stand firm for your homeland? And by what right do you speak to the Jarl of Solitude with such arrogance in your tone?"

"Dear general," Farkhali whispered and her voice was now sweeter than honey and softer than silk, charming and tempting, as though it invited the robust Imperial to some mysterious unknown place, "have you ever been through a torture? Do you know what it's like when they take your hand and break your fingers, slowly, painfully, one after another? Have you ever felt the burning of a whip on your bare skin? Have you ever gone for a week straight without any sleep, having the soles of your feet beaten until they turned deep blue and paralyzed your whole body? Have you ever hung head down for a single day, shaking violently and barely able to breathe as they stuck stuff in certain places of your body? Have you ever woken up as they poured ice-cold water on you, only to realize that the nightmare has not yet ended? Have you?"

He stared at her in horror and there was a stifling silence before he shook his head.

"I am sorry…" he mumbled.

"General Tullius!" Elisif bellowed in rage. "Snap out of it! She is using a spell on you!"

Farkhali turned furiously to the Nord woman, wondering if she had some kind of inner strength to actually resist her voice, or if she was too stupid to even be charmed. She grabbed her shoulders, driving her out of the room.

"Excuse me, my Jarl, but I think we need to talk a bit," she told her and there were dangerous sparks in her fair blue eyes.

"But…" general Tullius started, but it was Gulum-Ei this time who stepped into the conversation, tugging Farkhali's elbow to signal her to wait.

"Listen to me, please," he said with an innocent casual smile. Out of all his traits, Farkhali hated this one the most. "I know the two of you are anxious to save this land and we all understand it." _Seriously, this guy is not afraid to spill the most blatant lie as if it was common sense without as much as a blink of an eye,_ Farkhali thought to herself wryly. "But we have to be practical and try to help Jarl Balgruuf as much as we can. He is our only hope at the moment. There are a lot of things we can still do," _Sweet Nocturnal, this guy's a beast,_ "and we will certainly not remain silent. General Tullius, you said you wanted to command an army, right?"

The man in the ridiculously ornate armor nodded.

"Then I think we will give you one," the Argonian said heartily. Tullius looked at him with sudden eagerness.

Farkhali's eyes widened in shock, silently cursing the fence with every name she could think of. Just what in Oblivion was he thinking?

The man looked at her with an unreadable smile, signalizing to calm down.

"Don't worry," his gaze said. "I got this."

Her brows furrowed at the thought of Gulum-Ei managing things his way, but for now, the fugitive pair seemed to be placated and she needed it to stay that way.

"All right," she nodded at last. "Let us be on our way. We vacate this place within an hour."

And with that, everyone was set into motion.

* * *

 _Okay, so this chapter did not go as I had originally planned it to. I actually wanted to also write about some events in Whiterun and then include a part about Aislinn and Brynjolf moving on. But this part just came out so long that I made it a whole chapter since I think it's not always best to write long chapters, especially when every new chapter turns out longer than the previous one. So Whiterun and Aislinn will have to wait a bit. There are also other places of Skyrim that are going to appear in the story soon and you will meet some more characters from the game that haven't gotten a role so far. A lot of things are going to happen. Well, when a place as big as Skyrim gets in uproar, I guess a lot of things happen at a lot of different places._

 _Also, I'm getting the feeling that Skyrim is gaining a new dimension in my story. Whenever I can't find a proper place, I just make one up. Well, I hope it's at least interesting for you. :D_

 _To Twillin: So, what do you think of Farkhali now? :D_

 _To cleopatra: Thank you for your lovely review, I'm glad that you like my story over there! Please, can you convince Caesar to write me a nice review as well?_

 _All right, enough of my self-indulgent monologue, I'm out. Thanks for all your likes, favs and reviews, as always. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	23. The Sleeping Danger

**Chapter 23: The Sleeping Danger**

Dark clouds were hovering over the city of Whiterun and the plains visible from the Great Porch of Dragonsreach were shrouded in semi-darkness, never mind it was high noon and when else should the skies be bright and clear than now. Jon Battle-Born was leaning to the parapet at the edge of the Porch, scanning the land below, deep in thought. The grey and murky weather reflected his mood perfectly, and he contemplated it as a bad omen of things to come.

Jarl Balgruuf had done everything he could have to protect the city while he was gone. Sometimes, a mysterious Khajiit, always a different one, came to the city with a location marked on their map. Every time men were sent there, supplies waited there to be retrieved. It was not much and the current Steward, Vignar Gray-Mane, spent most of his time managing the system to divide the supplies fairly amongst the citizens and other people occupying Whiterun. The refugees had been sent to work at the farms outside of the city and, being the proud Nords they mostly were, they had accepted the job with surprising eagerness. Nevertheless, complaints about the lack of comfort rose from time to time and it was never easy to suppress them. There had been a few rebellions and some of the houses hosting the refugees had been all but devastated by the harsh treatment of the unsettled war victims. Coin was something that the city possessed in rather great numbers but it was meaningless at a time like this when the trades withered and people were fighting to survive. Bartering became the popular way during the time of war and every piece of clothing, food, arms or armor counted.

Jon had no idea where the Khajiit caravans always got their supplies and there was a chunk of curiosity settling in his heart every time one of their members arrived with information on a new location. He was quite sure that Vignar felt the same, but he always contained himself, putting trust in what Jarl Balgruuf had told him without questioning the Khajiit's resources for, as they say, curiosity killed the cat. Or, in this case, curiosity made the cat kill the man.

Despite his allegiance, Jon had developed a great deal of respect for the Steward who ran the city with the same diligence as his Jarl had. Not even once did he stand against the Jarl's orders, understanding the needs of the city better than most of its ever expostulating citizens and the newcomers who, much to his displeasure, often refused to even try to grasp the basics about how things worked in Balgruuf's city. It was possible that Vignar was just waiting for his opportunity to take over the city, and in that case, the Battle-Borns would stand for the Jarl, but his current ways were undeniable.

 _"You know what's wrong with Skyrim these days?"_ Jon had asked the Dragonborn once. _"Everyone is obsessed with death."_

Even now he would put his stamp under the statement, especially while having witnessed the situation of the last month. He was curious as to why Balgruuf the Greater had chosen him to watch over Vignar and his management, but slowly, he was starting to understand. Jon prided himself to see the hearts of the people around him. People were always striving for happiness, and yet, the ways they chose so often lead them astray that they just kept fighting each other. Even his own family, with the sole exception of his beloved nephew Lars who was too young to be involved in any kind of political or military struggle, kept turning the blind eye on the world around, constantly blaming others, the Gray-Manes first and foremost, for the desperate state of their land. But did it matter? Everyone had their share in this war, everyone was responsible. The first good thing had been done by the Dragonborn who so insightfully tried to unite the scattered factions and protect Skyrim from the present threat, despite it not even being her homeland. If there was someone who did not fear death like the others did, it was her, and with the determination that she so proudly possessed, she even inspired his own Jarl to take action and follow her footsteps. The word had it that she had been captured by the Thalmor, but that would make no difference anymore. She had set things into motion and were it to be Jon's way, he would gladly name her the new Talos for what she had done.

Then again, this war was not over and if people were not ready to stand their ground, it would end drastically for them. There was no help coming from the Imperial City or anywhere in Cyrodiil, and it was solely up to the citizens of Skyrim if they protected their country from the Dominion. And, in spite of being sturdy warriors eager to fight if they had to, their common sense sometimes failed them greatly, setting them against each other over and over again. If the war didn't end quickly, history would surely repeat itself. Even now, there was treachery in the air. He could sense that things were not quite all right in Whiterun, the city that he thought to be the most stable in all Skyrim, and surprisingly, it did not come from the side of Gray-Manes. Jon trusted Vignar and his leadership. But there was something else, something that even his eyes could not penetrate. Was it one of the refugees? No, he doubted that, for it would be too obvious and despite his fairly benevolent rule, the Steward had made sure that they were supervised with utmost caution. And if there was someone who would sacrifice anything and everything to never let the Thalmor have their way, it was Vignar Gray-Mane.

No, that was not it. It had to be someone who was granted the liberty to move and act freely in the city. One of their own. But who was there? His family, of course, the Companions, the few merchants and innkeepers... yes, they would probably be the ones most affected by the war. There was no coin flowing through the city, and they would not be able to feed themselves with coin either. They were mostly not so good with weapons or magic and so any kind of power or influence could be appealing to them. But could he be sure that the treachery struck root in their ranks? No, he could not.

"You won't believe this," a voice issued behind him and he turned to face his muscly proud-looking brother, Idolaf, with a mixture of amusement and cunning excitement in his face. Jon raised a brow in question and he continued. "Belethor..." he emphasized the word by drawing out every syllable, " _that_ Belethor, came to Vignar with the idea of building an outer wall around the farms outside the city. And he's got support. A lot of it."

"You support him too," Jon assumed dryly, tugging at his long blonde beard which he wore tied under his chin with a copper ring.

"You don't? Vignar has collected resources to build a shrine to Talos. Surely he could spend them now to protect the city which is now basically his."

"The city belongs to Jarl Balgruuf," Jon protested. "And by resources, do you mean the piles of gold which presumably linger in his cellar? Most of the time, people want to turn ore to pure gold, but right now, we would need the exact opposite and unless you know a damn good spell for it, it's not gonna happen. Besides, we don't have enough men to send to the construction."

"Our father stands on Belethor's side, just so you know," Idolaf said, ignoring his brother's arguments. "You make sure you don't pick the wrong one."

Without a word of response, Jon darted towards the keep, his brows knit together in tense anticipation. Upon entering the main hall, he strode through the freshly gathered crowd and made his way to the Steward's side.

"You sure took your time," Vignar pointed sternly as he approached. "Just look at the lot of them. They say they want a wall." A grim smirk crossed his face. "Do you think we can afford a wall?"

"With all due respect," Jon said a little timidly, "I find it very unlikely."

"These people can't work without any protection," Belethor objected as he stepped up and faced the Steward, pointing at the front door. Jon assumed that a number of refugees who were, naturally, not permitted to enter Dragonsreach, were gathered there, demonstrating their protests against the hard work and lack of protection. He could understand their fears on one side, but agreed with Vignar that the city should not strain its citizens to host them. It was enough that they were allowed to feed themselves off the local farms and use the city walls to seek protection when a threat rose at the horizon. But there was something in this particular case which did not sit well with him and he could not figure out what it was.

"What's in it for you, Belethor?" he addressed the Breton and the rather slender black-haired man's eyes met Jon's.

"Why is everyone always assuming that I'm scheming something?" he asked and threw the two figures in the head of the room an offended look.

"I wouldn't say scheming," Jon replied dispassionately, "but you barely do anything if you don't see any profit in it. Don't take it the wrong way, we all need profit. But still, why do you stick up to them? Are they of any concern to you?"

Vignar shot Jon a warning look to remind him who was in charge, and he answered with a semi-apologetic shrug. In the end, he was doing this for him, not for himself, and he believed to know the townsfolk better than the ever revered Gray-Mane who had spent most of his time dealing with aristocracy or fighting alongside the Companions. Jon, on the contrary, was the people person, always observing and communicating. He wanted to become a bard, after all, and a bard would be nothing without understanding the hearts of the people around. The black sheep of the proud family of Battle-Borns.

"Now now," a tall man with a tanned skin, dark well-kept hair and a pair of bright blue eyes spoke, an undeniable undertone of authority issuing from his voice. "Let us calm down and think this through. I do believe that a call for better protection is rather justified and that we should do whatever we can to provide the citizens of Skyrim with better environment. The lack of resources, though, is a fact that we cannot deny. Isn't there any way to actually extend our reach? There is plenty of ore in the mountains south to the city, we just need to send men there."

"Olfrid Battle-Born," Vignar sighed as he looked at the man. "This is so much like you. But we are not the Empire and we are not required to change every citizen's diaper for them. I am trying to protect Whiterun. We can either try to contain all Skyrim in the city walls and lose it consequently, or limit ourselves to what we can actually do and maybe survive this war."

"Jon," Olfrid turned to his son expectantly. Jon did not like this look of his. It always meant that he would be forced to agree with his father's opinion, no matter what he himself thought about it. "Surely you won't share this rather short-sighted perspective with our... _substitute_ here, will you?"

Vignar rose and Jon quickly stepped in his way. The situation was now getting out of control and he would have to do something to placate both parties so a fight would not break out.

 _Jarl Balgruuf,_ he thought to himself bitterly, _if only you were here. Here I thought I would have to watch out for Vignar Gray-Mane trying to usurp the Jarl's seat, but to watch out for my own family and deal with the petty dispute from the old times... how feckless is that._

"My Lord," he addressed the Steward politely, but only an angered grimace came in response from the grey-haired wrinkled elder who put a hand on the hilt of his sword immediately.

"Do not stop me, Jon Battle-Born," he hissed dangerously, angry sparks shooting from his eyes. "I do not wish to fight you but your allegiance does not put you in a good spot here."

Ignoring the threat, Jon turned around to face his father. Then he took a deep breath, his fingers tapping his thighs unconsciously in anxious anticipation of an unpleasant experience.

"There is only so much we can do, father," he spoke calmly, trying to conceal the tremble of his voice. "Even if miracles do happen, they cannot be counted on. We do not have enough men who would work on the wall, much less to send in the mountains to mine. We do not even have any equipment that would serve for that purpose."

On the outside, Olfrid's face remained composed, but Jon knew the nuances of his father's behavior. It was not when this man roared and thundered when he was the most dangerous. It was when he seemed completely calm and indifferent. Jon closed his eyes and waited.

"The city is full of people who do nothing but feed on the food from an unknown source," the Battle-Born elder said quietly. "Where do those supplies come from anyway? Why should the citizens of Whiterun have the comfort of eating plenty without earning it by honest day's work while the refugees who came all the way from their homes still have to work so hard to earn their share?"

"Are you pure blind?" Vignar snarled. "We give them our homes, we clean up their mess, we make their beds and wash their clothes. What else can the locals do for them? And besides, the supplies we get are shared equally. You would know if you actually cared. You do have access to the Distribution sessions."

"You do know where they come from, do you not?" Olfrid turned back to Jon, his voice low and demanding.

"No," Jon lied promptly, but it was Vignar's unconcealed reaction which gave him away. Olfrid knit his brows and his eyes narrowed with fury.

"You dare lie to me, son? You dare side with the Gray-Manes now?"

"I side with no-one," he answered wearily, having decided to give up the desperate attempt to calm his father. "I am only trying to help here."

"And so am I," his father whispered, eying him attentively. Then he turned to Vignar. "I think it's time that our Council gets reassembled," he added.

"I think," Belethor interjected when a tense silence was about to break out, "I have a solution to the said lack of equipment. I do own a general goods store, after all, and since I am a merchant, I also happen to know several benefactors who would be happy to help. And I believe there are quite a few willing people who would offer their hands for the job. People are getting tired of the confinement inside the walls too."

Jon narrowed his eyes and studied the Breton's face carefully. This was not like him, he had to be up to something. He was known to be a sly bastard for a good reason and the young would-be bard would not trust him to do such a thing selflessly. To plead for the refugees that he had no connection to? No way. And his father… his good father, willing to fight for just about anyone and everyone in Skyrim, had swallowed it hook, line and sinker to the point when he would antagonize his own son for their cause. Even though Jon had never had a good position in the family anyway.

"Yes," Vignar nodded. "The Council will be reassembled and there will be a meeting tomorrow morning. Although we do not usually permit outsiders to join the meetings of the Whiterun Council of Elders, there will be two exceptions tomorrow. Belethor, you will come as the representative of the local refugees and the one who speaks for their cause. Jon, you will come as my aide."

Belethor nodded slowly in approval and Jon turned to the Gray-Mane in surprise. Could it be that this man actually trusted him? Or did he want to make sure that he would not plot anything behind his back during the council? Or maybe he wanted to demonstrate his power in front of him to make him lose all hope of siding with the Battle-Borns in the end? He was not sure. A cold shiver made him set the thought aside, however, and he turned back to his father who was piercing him with eyes like two sharp ice shards. Of course. He was no Idolaf, the brave soldier who would join the legion eagerly the moment he could lift a sword, the oh-so-precious daddy's boy who would put the family name and pride before everything else. But he had not expected Olfrid to hate him. Surprisingly, it hurt more than Olfina Gray-Mane turning her angry face at him and calling him a useless good-for-nothing, for unlike Olfina, he had taken his family for granted.

 _Why, my Jarl,_ he lamented in his thoughts as he felt a stab in his heart, _why of all people did you have to choose me?_

* * *

The night was deep and dark when silhouettes of three people formed near the village of Dragon Bridge. There was a short conversation until the smallest of them, a girl in a seemingly ragged dress with a thick mop of hair waving around her head freely took cover in the bushes nearby. Were it not for the bright crimson light that the ever watchful eyes of her companion emitted, no-one would have guessed that a dark black horse was keeping her company there. She watched as the two other figures made their way to the village, sneakily hiding in the shadows, using any kind of obstacles in their way to their advantage. Her fingers slid down to a dagger she had been given, tightening around it in a firm grip as she waited breathlessly. She wished that she could at least close her eyes to make the waiting more endurable but that would mean opening up to any possible danger, and so she kept gazing at her two guardians and praying for their safety as they reached the closest house and leaned to its wall. There were sentries with torches in their hands roaming the village and they would have to time their progress carefully if they were to avoid them. She clenched her fists and held her breath as time passed slowly.

An arm in a daedric attire rose to the level of Aislinn's waist and she pointed her finger at the house which stood opposite the one they were leaning to at the moment. Brynjolf at her side nodded and they shifted a little forward. A group of young pine trees, rather reminiscent of smaller bushes, covered them as they watched several torchlights pass them in a steady pace. Then there was a moment of darkness and the two of them used it promptly to lurk to the other side of the road. Brynjolf pulled out a lockpick and dealt with the entrance door swiftly and they soon found themselves crouching in a small room filled with various furniture.

It was a small house and the family living there apparently tried to put every inch of the space inside to use. The two of them circled the table in the center cautiously, silently peeking at the pair of people sleeping on the cheap looking bed on their right. They froze when the bed emitted a loud creak as the supposed mother of the family turned over to the other side with a silent moan. After a split second, the sneaky pair started moving again, creeping to the stairs on their left. Upon having climbed down in nigh absolute silence, Aislinn pointed to two chests located near the beds on the other side of the small cellar. Both of them took a pair of lockpicks and headed to one of them, Aislinn left, Brynjolf right. Aislinn studied the lock with one quick glance and then skillfully inserted the lockpick when a pot swung her way. She backed away promptly, looking up in surprise.

"Got, you, you sneaky…" a female voice bellowed before Aislinn regained her composure, jumped on her feet and covered the mouth of a young short-haired Breton woman who stared at her with wide eyes. But it was too late, the young boy on the other bed sat up in an instant and footsteps behind the two burglars alerted them that more people were coming. Brynjolf readied himself at Aislinn's side, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"What's all this ruckus about?!" a melodic male voice echoed through the room and Aislinn caught a glimpse of a slender Redguard with a bright look in his eyes. His brows furrowed but then he paused as she slowly turned her head.

"This…" he stuttered, obviously taken aback. "Are my eyes deceiving me? Lady Aislinn, is it really you?"

Aislinn took a deep breath and finally let go of the girl in front of her who had stilled herself a while before, turning fully to face the man of the house.

"I am sorry to intrude like this, Mr. Lylvieve" she said with an apologetic look and the rest of the family relaxed as they heard the name, just as did Brynjolf, though keeping his hand on the sword nevertheless. "We got a little desperate…"

"But… no, this is such a great news!" the man exhaled in excitement and a pair of merry sparks danced in his eyes. "This is the second time everyone thought you were gone for good… and here you are, right before my eyes! Just what kind of game are the Thalmor playing with us? Or… what kind of game are you playing with them?"

"Listen," Aislinn whispered beseechingly, "it makes me really happy to see you pleased by the fact that I'm still alive, but no-one must know about this. Can we count on you?"

"Just what happened?" he asked curiously. Then, a blonde Breton woman with a stern look in her face walked down the stairs and patted his shoulders.

"Let's not be rude to our guests, Azzada," she scolded him softly. "How about we all sit down and have a talk?"

"I'm afraid I must decline," Aislinn said to the pair. "We are in a hurry and we must cross the river before the first sunrays light the horizon. I doubt I'd be able to _reappear_ again if they catch me this time."

The man nodded. "What do you need?" he asked then, careful not to make it sound like a threat.

"Anything and everything," Aislinn sighed. "A backpack or two, blankets or bedrolls, a bow, as many arrows as possible, food that would last a while… just about anything a travelling fighter who's meant to save the world would need."

"Of course," Azzada's wife nodded as though Aislinn had just said the most normal thing in the world, and gave her husband a meaningful look. "I'll prepare the food. You take care of the rest." Aislinn threw her a grateful look.

"Unfortunately, there are no weapons in our house," the Redguard sighed and shook his head. "Even if we tried to store some, the cursed elves, Oblivion take them, would confiscate them all. There are some at the house of the late Commander Maro. I know that the elves have some pretty good stuff there, enchanted weapons and such, but you'd have to be crazy to go there. Unless…" he paused and gave Aislinn an uncertain look. She stared at him curiously, silently encouraging him to go on, and so he did. "I stored away a few invisibility potions for my Clinton," he waved to the young boy who sat on the bed beside Brynjolf and kept studying the talking lot curiously, "since he was so interested in becoming invisible, but I think you will need them more than he does. If you manage to sneak in when the patrols change, you might be able to get there. The effect doesn't last long, though, and you'd probably have to cause some kind of distraction to be able to get out of there."

"Hmm, there's that one Shout…" Aislinn mused and a slight smile formed on her lips. Brynjolf slapped his own forehead helplessly and shook his head in resignation.

"Fine," he said hoarsely, "but I'm going to be the one walking inside."

"And who might you be?" Azzada turned to the red-haired thief, fully noticing him for the first time, measuring him with his eyes attentively.

"Oh, I'm sorry for not introducing him earlier," Aislinn bowed her head slightly in apology. "This is Brynjolf. He's… a friend of mine."

Her companion watched her with an unreadable expression and their Redguard host raised his brows in question. It was left unanswered, however, and he let it go as the two intruders-guests started discussing their new plan.

* * *

There was nothing but a dagger in his shoe that would protect Brynjolf on his way. In spite of that, he felt unusually secure, having been rid of the heavy burdens such as his backpack, his ebony blade which was now tied to the backpack and carried by Lucia and Shadowmere, and even his bow, since the lass had taken it with her. His pockets, however, were literally stuffed with various potions. There were some health potions, stamina potions, several invisibility potions and even fortifying potions of sorts. He had left Aislinn hidden in shade between two buildings and waited on the other side of the road for the right time. He knew she was watching the sky just as he did, and the moment the midpoints of Secunda and Masser formed one line with the Morning Star and the Aurora on the northern horizon turned from light blue to light green, their eyes turned to the door of the former headquarters of Penitus Oculatus. The wooden wing opened immediately and four silhouettes contrasted with the bright light coming from inside, two going in while the other two headed out.

Brynjolf swallowed one of the invisibility potions in three gulps and quickly made his way to the door, making sure that his footsteps made no noise whatsoever. He barely avoided being squished against the doorframe by one of the passing elves and entered the house. Four beds were scattered inside and a table with a bench was pressed against the wall opposite the door. Including the two newcomers, four elves occupied the room, two minding their own business on their beds, one heading to the table and one glancing outside with his hand ready on the door handle. There was no talking, no communication whatsoever, but that quickly changed as a noise came from outside.

"Hey, ugly!" a voice echoed and then there were footsteps hurrying uphill.

"I'm here, cheesebrain!" it sounded again and the footsteps stopped. Brynjolf imagined the confused Thalmor thickheads looking frantically for the source since this time it had come from the opposite direction. And then there was another one. And again.

The elf by the door opened it wide again and ran outside as his comrades called him. Two of the ones inside the room followed and now there was just one who kept Brynjolf company. He watched the door attentively, scanning it for any sign of movement and curiously listening to the ruckus outside. So concentrated was he on what he was doing that he completely ignored the silent rustle as the invisible thief, taking a sip from another invisibility potion occasionally, unlocked one of the chests.

Brynjolf scanned its contents and took a few rings and necklaces from inside. The otherwise cheap looking trinkets were buzzing with strange magic and somehow he became excited to find out what effect they would have on their bearer.

The second chest contained nothing but some food and coin which he left intact, but the last one made the thief's eyes sparkle. It was exactly what he wanted. A dark dagger sparkling in the color of blood as the life-draining magic pulsed through it quickly made its way right into Brynjolf's left shoe. Then he put his hands on a beautiful bow made of fair wood which glowed in light blue. It was cold on touch and he raised it carefully with a great deal of reverence. It felt as if the bow did not weigh anything and he smiled slightly. The lass would do wonders with this one, and it would definitely come in handy while fighting the three dragons guarding the Elder Scroll Shout. He shivered at the thought.

There were several more weapons but he decided that grabbing more would be too risky. Then he heard a swish as the elf in the room drew his weapon.

Brynjolf turned to him in a split second, discovering with a surprise that the Altmer in an ornate gilded armor was looking right through him. His heart stopped. He knew the thief was there. A single movement would give him away so he stood there frozen, but the elf was no fool. Faster than a dragon swooping down on its prey, he grabbed a blanket from the nearby bed and threw it at Brynjolf. The thief ran for it but the well-aimed cloth flew right in his way and his foot slipped as he stepped on it. He measured his length on the ground and a cold blade pressed against his neck as he looked up.

* * *

 _I apologize for the delay. I went to my mom's house where I have my laptop but it died on me and I spent quite some time reviving it. In the end, my laptop lives but it took me a great deal of effort to achieve it, so… fu. :D_

 _So… the Whiterun Arc finally started and you could probably tell that I really like Jon Battle-Born for his sober-minded perspective and therefore I decided to give him a place in the story. He was given far too little credit in the game so I'm going to correct that. :D_

 _To the Guest no.2 who so kindly reviewed the story: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your review made me unbelievably happy and it's the first time I got a hint of a real constructive criticism. As for Aislinn, well, she's not a child anymore, she could be between 22 and 25 years old, but I don't really state that in the story since she doesn't know who she really is herself. But I'm really glad you mentioned her personality. Obviously, I have not described it quite clearly so far and I'll have to work on it. To sum it up – Aislinn is primarily reckless and Brynjolf should see her as such. She is a little naïve in a way (of course, she would not fall for so many traps and lies if she wasn't, but then she would just be a dull and invincible Mary Sue and I wouldn't have a reason to write this story :D) but she is sensible enough to be on her guard constantly (I think that goes with being the Dragonborn… you know). About her being scared – obviously. If a dragon in a rotten catman's body just tried to rape you, I think you'd be scared as well. :D Brynjolf can see that, of course, but as for his general opinion of her, I think that "fragile" is not equivalent to "scared". It's just that apart from her strong side, he can see the vulnerable side of her as well – how she wants to be protected too, how she's scared of being depended on too much, even though there is a side of her that enjoys the spotlight… something like that. She is a little controversial but the important part is that she doesn't understand her own feelings and personality that well yet and Brynjolf might actually understand her better than she does. Anyway, thank you for pointing that out, I will try to clarify that further in the story. :)_

 _Thanks a lot to everyone who reviewed, liked or favorited the story. Keep them coming, please, you're making me happy. :)_

 _Stay tuned and see you around._

 _Mirwen_


	24. Lucia's Heritage

**Chapter 24: Lucia's Heritage**

There was a key around the elf's neck which Brynjolf had not noticed before, and it was glowing. The lock to that chest must have been protected in way that would not let the potential burglar notice until they tried to open it. Clever. Damn those elves. Whenever there were elves, there was also obnoxious magic which would get in the way in the most inconvenient moments. Oblivion take it.

"Have you sent your prayers to Stendarr?" the elf asked with a contemptuous smirk as he watched Brynjolf's blurred image turn tangible solid. The effects of the invisibility potion had worn off.

The thief replied with the same smirk.

"Stendarr?" he chuckled mockingly. "Unless he spends his time attending tea parties with Nocturnal and secretly plotting who is worth of his mercy, I don't think I have anything to say to him." _And in that case, the good old Hermaeus Mora would be the one organizing the parties,_ he snorted sarcastically in his thoughts.

The tip of the gilded blade touching the skin on his neck was cold. One wrong movement and it would be buried deep into his throat, and he did not like the thought at all. He was wondering as to why the stinking Altmer even bothered keeping him alive. He stood over him, his grip firm around the hilt of his gilded sword, his stance wide and focused. There was a slight, almost unnoticeable tremble running through his body, and Brynjolf had to smile to himself when he realized that his captor was nervous. Obviously, he had been put in the exact same spot as the red-haired thief. One wrong movement and all would be lost. He did not want to kill him, for whatever reason.

Brynjolf waited. He would not be the first one to make a mistake.

* * *

The figures in ornate armors and dark robes were running frantically back and forth, the lights of the torches that some of them were holding creating a fascinating display of shining lines and curves as they contrasted with the darkness of the night. Aislinn, hidden behind a rock at the moment, sent another Shout in a randomly selected direction, confusing them even more. Some of the elves were starting to realize that there was something off about the mysterious voice which kept calling to them from multiple places and she was sure that her cover would be blown soon. But Brynjolf was not coming.

She gave herself one more minute. One minute until she would have to retreat if she was to come out of this unharmed. Even now she was disobeying Brynjolf's order to run away the moment any kind of complication would seem to arise.

 _"If anything seems wrong, you leave me there and get away. You absolutely must not let them catch you again."_

She understood that, and there were several reasons that she kept repeating to herself in her mind over and over again, as to why she should stay safe even if it meant the death of her companion. But the thought sent a painful stab in her heart. What would she do if she lost Brynjolf here? It had never crossed her mind before, as she had been the one hunted and threatened all the time, but now he was in danger and it hurt. She would not be able to bear losing him. Just what would she do if she was to never see him again? Would it be worth for her to save the world anyway? The world which would surely lose color and all its appeal without him being a part of it anymore?

Now that was one selfish thought… but in the end, the red-haired thief meant a world to her. He was the one who had saved her many times before, and the one who always stood by her, no matter what kind of insanity she decided to pull off. He was the one who had sacrificed his freedom and comfort to aid her in her quest, never mind the absurdity of it, the one who had brought her back when doubts and fear had been about to get the better of her, and the one who had claimed her, which was a fact she definitely did not dislike.

 _"You can kill the whole world off, but don't ever sacrifice your loved ones if you want to be able to live with yourself."_

She blinked in surprise as the words rang in her head. Someone had once told her this… but who? When? It was a memory from the time before that fateful day when she had woken up tied up in the carriage that had been supposed to take her to her execution. A fragment from the time that she had no recollection of… or more like she had had no recollection of. That voice had been full of regret.

Aislinn raised her head. A cacophony of screams interrupted the train of her thoughts as the elves realized that there was silence, for she had ceased her Shouts unintentionally. She darted from her hiding place where she would be discovered moments later as she had done numerous times during the last few minutes, keeping in the shadows as she crept to the wooden building in front of her. Swiftly she moved to its rear wall and followed it to her left, turning around so her back was pressed to it and she was now sidestepping to her right. There was a porch on the reverse side of the building, its wooden structure lifted about four feet above the ground which made it a perfect spot for hiding. And she would see the entrance to the former headquarters of Penitus Oculatus perfectly from there.

Unlike when she had left the place before, the door to the headquarters was open and bright golden light shone from inside. A number of elves were running back and forth, crossing the road in front of her constantly, until a figure strode from the building, dragging someone with them. Aislinn could recognize the red hair which blazed like the fires of Oblivion in the light that kept coming from the house. A gilded blade was pressed to the neck of its bearer and her heart stopped when she realized what was going on. They must have recognized him. Blast his habit of not wearing any helmet. Then again, perhaps it was thanks to this that he was still alive.

His armor was dented and awfully bent in some places, and she imagined it hard to breathe with the way some of the ebony scales were indented in the area of his chest. His hair was messy, a large part of it lank with sweat and blood. The elf at his side was equally ragged and Aislinn assumed there must have been a fierce fight between those two. Still, she had to commend Brynjolf in her thoughts on being able to fare so well with just a dagger against a fully equipped and well-rested elf. Maybe she would tell him later, but now she had to decide quickly. It would take just a moment for the elf to consult the others, come to the conclusion that the Dragonborn must be there somewhere and try to lure her out, threatening her companion. Either way, she was exposed. Just how quickly would they be able to react if she Shouted? And how quickly would Brynjolf adapt?

There was no other way. She had to put her trust in him. And so her voice roared throughout the land.

 _"Zun Haal Viik!"_

The gilded sword flew out of the elf's hands in an instant. Luckily, Brynjolf was fast enough to catch it in the air, but Aislinn did not have time to watch them fight. She darted along the house behind her and back to the rocks which had kept her hidden a while ago. A minute, that was the time she needed Brynjolf to hang in there until she came and saved him. There was no other way anymore, she had to call for aid. Unwillingly, she sent Lucien Lachance to thief's side again, a little disgusted at his face which showed nothing but bloodlust. Then she ran as fast as she could, hoping that no rotstone mist would reach her until she could Shout again. So much for keeping her location a secret… but it was either that or saving Brynjolf, and out of these two options, she knew well which one she would choose.

 _He's going to kill me for this,_ she thought to herself bitterly when she mulled over what she was about to do. _But that's still better than him being killed by the Altmer. I can revive. Hopefully._

The minute felt like eternity and she kept running all around the village, avoiding the sharp elven eyes cautiously. And then, when her breath returned, she wasted no time.

 _"Dur Neh Viir!"_ Her voice echoed through the land, spreading far and wide, shaking the rocks above her and rippling the Karth River below. She heard the elves nearby scream in surprise but the strange dragon with ghostly green skin and ragged wings was already at her side, a sinister violet light glowing around him, and she mounted his jagged neck before he could move an inch.

"Qahnaarin, what…" he started, obviously just as surprised as the approaching Altmer were, but she cut him off at once.

"Soar now," she ordered without an explanation.

"I do not understand. You want to ride me?" he asked and Aislinn cursed his slow speech.

"Not now," she hissed. "Up. We have a lot to do."

The ragged wings glowed with ancient magic as the undead dragon rose. Even shrouded in the darkness of the night, the land was beautiful from above and Aislinn remembered the first time she had flown on the back of Odahviing, the snowy mountain tops running seemingly lazily in the opposite direction as they had torn through the ice cold air and she had fought the tears in her eyes in order to see the land below. She did not have much time for reminiscing, though, for there was a group of angry elves on the ground and a lost red-haired thief who required her assistance. She whispered to Durnehviir silently but clearly enough and he listened. Then he dove and swooped down, his mighty talons grabbing a red-haired figure from the ground as gently as a dragon could. A volley of arrows and magical missiles rose from the ground, but the dragon paid them no attention and simply flew into the distance as soon as possible.

Aislinn knit her brows when she saw Brynjolf's body hanging there limply and instructed her mount to land on the mountain looming over Dragon's Bridge. It was a summit that no mortal without wings would be able to reach and so she left out a soft sigh of relief as she pulled Brynjolf to a relative safety. He stared at her weakly.

"Sheogorath's mad eyes, lass, what in Oblivion did you just do?!" he scolded her sternly as he sat down on a rock and shivered slightly with cold which was getting under his skin here in the tremendous heights of the mountains.

She smiled a little at him. He was hurt but the fact that he talked to her with such vigor could only mean that he would be all right.

"I…" she prepared to answer his question but stopped at once as she noticed lights on both south-western and north-eastern horizon. They blazed with myriads of fiery dots, shimmering and dancing merrily in two thin lines. But the lines were slowly getting thicker and the lights moved.

"Blasted fatty troll head," she whispered. The thief looked up to her curiously and she pointed at the two golden lines simultaneously. "Armies. We have to get those people out of there, this will most likely be their meeting place." She nodded towards the village below.

"There's a bunch of angry elves waiting for you down there," he pointed with a smirk but she shook her head.

"Durnehviir can take them," she answered simply and readied herself to hop on his back again.

"He'll burn the village down in no time!" the thief objected but Aislinn smiled.

"That's taken into account," she said. "Unlike Odahviing, Durnehviir is a frost dragon."

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief.

"You coming with me?" she asked and stretched out her hand in a beckoning gesture.

He shot the undead reptile a doubtful glance and hesitated before standing up slowly. Aislinn stared at him.

"Are you maybe… afraid of heights?" she asked a little timidly.

"I am a thief," he said as if it explained everything. She raised her brows.

"Meaning I stick to the dark and cramped places, shady corners, tunnels and such," he added.

"So you're afraid of heights," she summed it up.

"Well… aye," he sighed helplessly in resignation. "I'm afraid of heights. Or, rather, I'm afraid of the depths below them."

She walked towards him and grabbed both of his hands in hers. He jerked a little at the sudden contact and looked into her eyes unintentionally.

"Hold onto me tightly," she said reassuringly. "I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

"It's not about something happening to me," he mumbled but she silenced him with a gentle hug.

"Then think of nothing but me," she breathed. "Trust me."

She was not being fair to him. He walked away from her to the distance of an arm's length and looked at her firmly.

"Then promise me two things," he invited.

"This is not the best time to…"

"Just do it."

She sighed. "What is it?"

"First, we're going to make it out of this safe and sound."

She nodded.

"Second, you're going to give me a day of your life."

There was a moment of silence before she turned her puzzled eyes to him and spoke. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that for one day you're going to do exactly as I tell you. Whatever I say, you're going to abide by it."

"Are you… planning on making me your slave?" she uttered in astonishment at the boldness of his demand.

"A slave? Well, maybe, if you want to call it that," he said and a pair of merry sparks danced in his eyes.

"And if I say no?" she asked innocently.

He closed the distance between them again, cupping her face in his palms and forcing her to look directly into his eyes.

"You would have the nerve to decline after all _that_?" he whispered. Although he could not see the beautiful crimson color of her flush dye her soft cheeks in the dark, the warmth in his hands spoke for itself and he grinned a little.

"O-okay, have it your way," she growled and backed away briskly.

"I'll take your word on that," he smiled and let her reach out for him as she mounted the undead dragon again. He seated himself behind her and put his arms around her waist, smirking in amusement as he felt her shiver under his touch. That would do. He would definitely not think of the dangerously hard ground hundreds of feet below him when there was the bright prospect of the lass surrendering herself to him completely. The painful death preceded by a rapid fall from the heavenly heights was simply not an option anymore.

The dragon soared and the pair on his back got a clear sight of the two armies approaching the village.

"I hope the villagers didn't leave their homes," Aislinn whispered anxiously. "I can't be picky about the targets."

"You can't save everyone," he tried to comfort her but she did not seem convinced. Nevertheless, she instructed Durnehviir to swoop down and spray the place with a stunning cone of frost.

 _"Fo Krah Diin!"_ she Shouted and her own frost breath joined his. An arrow pierced one of Durnehviir's wings and the dragon staggered, but did not let himself cease the onslaught. Aislinn grabbed the thorn in front of her firmly and regretted not being able to use a bow at such a moment. She felt Brynjolf behind her tighten his grip as the dragon kept twisting and turning in the air in attempt to avoid the shower of arrows and bolts aimed at him. The positive side was that he would never die, bound to the eternal half-life in the Soul Cairn. Still, Aislinn could not help but feel a little sorry for the cursed reptile who had been banished to such a cold, dreadful place.

One of the three elves who remained alive cracked a rotstone and the familiar white mist spread around the place. He had put himself in a great disadvantage by doing that since he could not get a clear shot at the dragon aloft, but even at such a distance, the cursed gem affected Aislinn and she felt numbness spreading in her body. She could feel Brynjolf clinging to her, whispering in her ear, although the words sounded faint and distant.

"Hang in there, lass," he urged.

Durnehviir jerked to the side and it became obvious that Aislinn was not the only one falling victim to the venomous vapors. But the magic of the undead kept him going and another elf fell.

 _Paarthurnax!_ Aislinn called desperately, turning away from the outside world and focusing on her mind and soul.

 _Dovakhiin,_ he answered calmly. She took a deep breath and a reassuring feeling settled in her heart. He was still there.

 _Please, help me,_ she begged.

 _Everything you need, I have already given to you, Dovakhiin,_ he replied and his tranquil existence sent a comforting wave down her body. But it still wasn't enough. The old dragon must have sensed it though, for he spoke again. _These stones attack your dragon senses, Dovakhiin. To avoid their effects, you must first understand how other creatures differ from the dov. How I differ from them as well. The answer lies within your grasp._

 _Can't you be more specific?_ she urged.

 _It would not help you if I simply explained,_ he hummed inside her. She sighed and opened her eyes. Durnehviir had fallen back, avoiding the white plague which was slowly dissipating into the air. Only dead bodies were now visible on the road traversing the village and Aislinn assumed that the elves had been vanquished to the last. The dragon landed on the road leading uphill to Solitude and let Aislinn slide down from his back. Her body trembled slightly and Brynjolf put his hand over her shoulders to support her.

It was close to dawn now, the sky slowly turning the color of light purple as the first sunrays slid over the eastern horizon and caressed the snowy mountain peaks and treetops waving slightly in the morning breeze. The last nightingale finished its vigorous song and a steady tweet of a lark replaced it eventually, falling silent every time the undead dragon dared to move.

Aislinn staggered through the village of Dragon Bridge slowly, careful not to slip on the thin layer of frost which spread over the ground as a reminder of the recent battle. Some of the doors were open ajar as the citizens curiously peeked out to see what all the ruckus was about. While Brynjolf went to collect the weapons they had originally come here for, she knocked on one of the doors and a head of a woman with a mop of ruffled blonde hair and sleepy expression in her face appeared in the doorway.

"Lady Aislinn?" she asked hesitantly. "Is that…"

"Yes!" Aislinn cut her off impatiently. "You have to leave the village at once. There are two armies approaching and they will probably meet around here."

"Wait, but the elves…"

"There are no elves left. Listen to me. If you stay, you're all going to get slaughtered. There's going to be a battle."

"But who…"

"Since we are so far in the west, my best guess is the Forsworn. They have been preparing for this encounter for some time. No, they will not spare you, I assure you."

The woman nodded slowly.

"Do tell the others, please," Aislinn urged. "We have to get out of here as soon as possible."

"Lady Aislinn," the woman called to her in a low voice. Aislinn looked at her expectantly. There was a silence and then the woman clasped her hands together in a prayer. "Please, stay safe. We are all behind you."

Aislinn smiled softly. "I will," she said gratefully.

Then she turned around and joined Brynjolf, heading back uphill towards Durnehviir.

"My daughter is waiting for us on the other side," Aislinn informed him while waving to the Karth River. "Will you take us there?"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that, Qahnaarin," the dragon replied.

"Are you running out of time?" she asked.

"That too. But your… daughter, you said, she is the main problem."

"Why would my daughter be a problem?" she inquired furrowing her brows.

"I can feel that Akatosh himself bestowed his blessing upon her. You might not know but this power repels everything that is opposed to creation, the inhabitants of the Soul Cairn included."

"You know something about the power that she wields?" Aislinn whispered with sudden eagerness in her voice.

"Why yes, it is well known to the dovah as it was originally their power. If there was a single dovah willing to serve Akatosh the same way your priests do, maybe he would be granted it anew. In the old times, though, the purifying fire was granted to the Dragonborn. If the words of the younger souls in the Soul Cairn are true, then the emperors of the Septim bloodline used it to protect the Empire, renewing it every time a new Emperor was crowned."

"Wait…" she exhaled and walked a short distance to ease the clump of anxiousness which settled in her chest. "This power… it's the same one that Talos and all his descendants wielded? That's the power which used to be stored in the Amulet of Kings?"

"Most definitely," the dragon nodded slightly.

"My Lucia… my little Lucia… is she…"

"The blood is certainly there," he answered the unfinished question.

"So… how come that I don't have this kind of power?" Aislinn asked and shifted her weight. There was a hint of uneasiness in her voice and she fought the feeling of injustice settling at the back of her mind. What was this? Jealousy over her own daughter? She felt cheated and incomplete. Why would Lucia suddenly be granted power that she, the Dragonborn from the legends, was supposed to wield? Or was she pursuing something that was not hers? Was her destiny fake? Her destiny, which was the only thing that she was sure of… was it just an illusion which misled her and made her stray from her own path? And if she was not the destined Dragonborn, who was she?

She knew that her shaking body gave her away, for she felt Brynjolf come to her side and squeeze her hand firmly.

"That I do not know," Durnehviir replied uncertainly, "but I am sure you will find out in time. I am sure there is a reason for that. Akatosh never does anything without a reason."

"Durnehviir…" she said weakly. "Just who am I?"

"Only you have the answer to that question, Qahnaarin," he breathed slowly. "It is time for me to go. Lok Thu'um, Dovakhiin."

Aislinn watched as flames of violet light engulfed the ragged dragon and sent him back to his dreadful home. She turned to Brynjolf, her face pale as the surrounding snow.

"Brynjolf," she whispered in despair.

"I know," he said softly, though the expression in his face was unreadable.

"My Lucia… my little Lucia…" she stuttered and shook her head in denial. "She's a Dragonborn."

* * *

 _All right. I think the story is developing pretty nicely. And the irony of it all – you, the readers, are slowly but surely getting to know the characters in the story… all except the main protagonist. But do not be afraid, you will find who she is in time. In the meantime, you can take a guess and place your bets. :D_

 _Funny thing – I started playing Skyrim all over again as a mage (I played it only once before and my character – surprisingly enough named Aislinn – was a swordswoman with a double sword style; well, of course I would pick this style since I am a big fan of Drizzt Do'Urden :D) to try a new playstyle and also review some of the things from the story. When I got to High Hrothgar, I had the Greybeards teach me some stuff and it didn't even take me a whole in-game hour. Then I was talking to Arngeir and he told me something about "normal people having to spend years mastering the things I have learnt here in just a few days". I had to laugh to myself since it seems that the time really doesn't matter at all in the game. Suddenly, an hour turned into a few days.  
The reason I'm talking about this – you might have noticed that it took Brynjolf quite some time to reach Solitude from Shor's Stone. It also took our main protagonists several days to travel from Riften to Markarth. If you ride Shadowmere and take the longest route possible, which would probably be from Solitude to Riften, it doesn't even take one in-game day to complete the journey. Since Skyrim would seem like an unbelievably tiny country if it really was like that, I made it a little larger and more believable. I know I'm not exactly sticking to the game, but then again, it's just a game. The characters don't even need to sleep there and seriously, I wouldn't be able to write a story with this sort of inhuman protagonists. :D_

 _By the way, did you know that listening to Within Temptation can be quite inspirational if you write a fantasy story? Do try it. ;)_

 _As always, thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. By the way, FF-net is really trying hard to crush my motivation. The visits counter stopped working so now it seems that no-one reads the story at all. That said, thanks to Twillin for reminding me that there is always at least one loyal reader out there. Thanks to her I know that the {cake} counter is a lie. (Yeah, this system doesn't support strikethrough text... meh... :P)_

 _Stay tuned. ;)_

 _Mirwen_


	25. The Baleful Awakenings

_IT WORKS! By the Grace of Akatosh, this damned thing finally works! I have been waiting for 36 hours to be able to post this chapter, really, so finally, here you go. I want to remind you again that I have a website where I publish this story as well: fanfiction-sekai-cz (replace the dashes with dots). If you want to make sure you receive updates in time, please, subscribe there, as the crashes here are quite frequent and each of them takes more time to fix than the previous one, it seems. You do not have to register to do that and your e-mail will not be visible to anyone so no spam will come from my site, I assure you._

 _Also, Twillin - you may have received a message from me since I tried to contact you via the mobile app. I still have no idea if it worked, but in case it did, sorry for the spam._

 _Okay, no more delays, enjoy the chapter. :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 25: The Baleful Awakenings**

A knock on the door woke Jon from his shallow slumber. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, trying to fight the usual morning drowsiness emphasized by the fact that it was yet dark and from what it seemed, the sun had not risen yet. Just what in Oblivion did they want from him at this unholy hour?

Ineptly he put on his house robes and staggered to the door, groping after the handle.

"Wha'zzit?" he mumbled upon opening it, expecting it to be Lars, Idolaf or some other relative of his. Surprised, he noticed a courier from Dragonsreach bowing to him, his face lit dimly by a candle he was holding. Someone must have let him inside the house.

"I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, master Battle-Born," he said quietly and lowered his head in a humble apologetic gesture. "Lord Vignar is sending for you. It is urgent."

"It better be," Jon muttered grumpily. "Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute," he nodded to the courier and closed the door again. He put on a set of more formal robes and tied his blonde hair up in a ponytail hastily. It did not look like the usual stylish and cultivated hairstyle Jon was used to exhibiting and it felt funny on his left side, tugging a little at the skin behind his ear, but it would have to do for now. They cannot expect him to look gorgeous if he is to head for the keep straight from his bed in the middle of the night. Then again, it felt a little wrong, for as a would-be bard he wanted to always look stunning.

Shaking his head to brush the uselessly annoying thought aside, he took his dagger, placed it in his right shoe, as he always did, and walked into the cold of the dark sleeping city of Whiterun. It was quiet, not a single voice came from the direction of the two inns, The Drunken Huntsman and The Bannered Mare, as the two facilities served to host a considerable number of refugees at the moment and the usual night activities were prohibited. Seriously, what a sad time this was. Whiterun used to be such a heartwarming and lively place.

When Jon set his foot on the stairs leading to the Cloud District, he spotted a movement behind him and turned around instinctively. A female figure in a set of heavy ebony armor with a beautiful frosty glass blade attached to her side was hurrying towards him from the lower parts of the city. He did not have to wait until she stepped into the light cast by the candles decorating the shrine of Talos to figure who she was, for he would recognize the blade and the armor anytime. Especially the blade he had admired the moment the Dragonborn had brought it in the city, the refined blue sword capable of literally freezing the heart of its victims. Chillrend, that was its name, a legend amongst blades and one of the many rewards that the honorable Thane of Whiterun had decided to bestow upon her housecarl for her continuous service.

"Lydia," he greeted her warmheartedly and slowed his pace to let her catch up. "What a surprise. I thought you had gone off with the Dragonborn's family."

"Ah, Jon," the dark haired woman nodded. She seemed a little ragged but otherwise just as strong and impressive as ever. "I certainly did but they are safe at the moment and I feel needed here. My service is to Aislinn, but it is to the city of Whiterun as well. And for the sake of the Nine, she has a name. Stop treating her like some kind of unearthly being." She gave him a scolding look and he had to laugh. At least someone had not changed.

Together they climbed up the tiresome number of stairs which painfully reminded Jon of his lack of sleep, and entered Dragonsreach where the hearth at the center of the main hall welcomed them with dancing fire, as warm and pleasant as ever. Vignar was occupying Balgruuf's throne, his eyes looking just as weary as Jon's. He gave a surprised look to Lydia but there was no spite in it, rather he seemed grateful for the unexpected ally to turn up. She returned his gaze emotionlessly, not giving out any sign of feeling or opinion on this unexpected turn of events. Jon imagined she must have mixed feelings about it, knowing that Vignar had opposed Balgruuf in many ways before, and for Lydia, Balgruuf was probably the only jarl she would be able to acknowledge.

"Lydia, welcome back to Whiterun," the Steward nodded in her direction and a hint of smile showed on his lips, the most positive reaction he could offer her.

"Honored to be back," she said quietly.

"I am sorry I cannot give you a proper greeting this time, but I need to discuss a few things with Jon here," he waved at her apologetically. "Would you maybe give us a moment?"

"I will be at Breezehome if you need me then," she bowed and excused herself briskly. Jon watched her walk away, waiting for the door to snap in behind her. Then he looked up to Vignar.

"I do think we can trust her," he told him tersely.

"Of course we can trust the Dragonborn's much loyal housecarl, but some things are better to be discussed privately," Vignar nodded.

 _"Stop treating her like some kind of unearthly being,"_ Lydia's words rang in Jon's head and he could not help but think she was right. The Dragonborn was surely a title of great honor, but maybe it was a little cruel for Aislinn to be addressed only as "the Dragonborn" all the time. Moreover, she still was one of the Companions, Vignar's own men, and had she not declined, she would have become their Harbinger as well. It was as though everyone was afraid to pronounce her name. Just how did _she_ feel about it?

"So, what is this urgent matter you need to discuss?" he asked and leaned to one of the chairs surrounding the two long tables lining the fireplace.

"A Khajiit arrived tonight with a new location," Vignar informed.

"What? But that's three days ahead of the schedule," Jon pointed out.

"Exactly. And the location is closer to the city as well. According to the reports of the said Khajiit, the Thalmor are planning to take over the hold. They are closing in on us and if things go their way, they will cut off the water supply from the White River and the farms that lay around it."

Jon knit his brows as the meaning of the Steward's message sank in slowly.

"First a wall request and now this?" he asked with a doubtful expression.

"That's why I called you. I hope I can trust you on this because I need someone reliable to go there and check the situation immediately."

"The Jarl has requested me to…"

"Yes, I know," Vignar interrupted him impatiently and scratched the handle of the throne with his nails. "But you know the people around here better than I do, I would say. Are there no people you can trust on this one?"

"The best one left this room just a moment ago," Jon suggested.

"Lydia? She has just arrived…"

"But if I were to pick one solidly loyal representative of the city, it would be her. You won't find a person who is more faithful to Whiterun _and_ the Dra… lady Aislinn than Lydia. She would have absolutely no reason to betray us. On the contrary, she'd have every reason to hunt down any possible traitor and beat the crap out of them."

Vignar smirked a little at Jon's choice of the words and the fact that the bard-to-be purposely avoided mentioning Balgruuf's name among the things that Lydia was loyal to, but nodded nevertheless.

"You do have a point," he said approvingly. "I will send her ahead of the caravan and postpone the Council meeting until she arrives with the news."

"My father will have a lot to say about that," Jon grimaced bitterly.

"Of course he will. Olfrid Battle-Born always has a lot to say about everything," the Gray-Mane sighed in an unspoken apology. "But this is no time to make hasty decisions. Even Balgruuf would agree with me on that."

"You honor him greatly," Jon bowed in respect for the man he would have never guessed to acknowledge like this in the past. Vignar gave him a long scrutinizing look and Jon knew at that moment that the Steward was thinking the same thing as he did. Just how much had changed that even the fiercest rivals were compelled to ally and pursue the same goal while searching for a traitor among their own.

* * *

The camp was filthy. Even for someone who had spent most of their life on the road with just one set of clothing, barely able to wash the dirt that accumulated on the skin away, even for a thief used to dealing with the worst kind of scum and traversing dark places which normal people feared even mentioning, the camp reeked with filth and Farkhali smirked with utter disgust as she saw it. A half dissected animal lay on a low stone pedestal with a series of odd wet hairy clumps which she did not dare identify. Half of the fences and palisades were made of bones and she suspected some of them to be human. The tents were covered with raw, untanned pelts reeking of dead animals and she was sure that the uneven ledge looming over the messy fireplace was made for some kind of hideous ritual. She covered her mouth as she walked through the campsite, a muscly man dressed in pelts decorated with bones and teeth carrying a jagged sword accompanied her on each side. The filth subsided a little as they approached the King's tent but she still did not feel comfortable enough to relax her stiffened shoulders. The men and women around watched her with a good deal of amusement in their faces which was not exactly helping her humor either. And to top it all off, a pair of hagravens sat a little aloof, feasting on the raw remains of an unidentified creature. Farkhali swallowed hard using the collar of her green armor to conceal it, and suppressed the need to throw up.

Upon entering the large tent sheltered by a pair of low cliffs, she stared into the eyes of a tall grey-haired aged man whose dove-grey eyes sparkled with intelligence. He seemed far more cultivated than his tribesmen with the moose skull crown decorated with emerald ornaments on his head and the neat fur armor with sabre cat teeth covering his robust body. Still, meeting with him would definitely be one of the less pleasant experiences in her life, as his eyes were piercing her with fury. She knew exactly why and had come prepared for that, but the mighty King's presence itself felt rather overwhelming. He was not one to be trifled with and she was not sure that her charming spell would work on the King of the Forsworn. She bowed to him, visibly unsure of the ways of this peculiar tribe.

"So," Madanach spoke without a word of proper greeting, "you're the one they call Farkhali."

"I see you are well informed, Your Highness," she nodded.

"And you are the one who sent that rather interesting proposal as well, I assume," he continued and there was a trace of contempt in his calm voice.

"That is correct," she affirmed, correcting herself in her thoughts for she knew it was only partially correct. The one who had come up with the plan was Gulum-Ei and she had sworn to skin him for that. That night of fierce fights and quarrels had been one of the worst in her whole life and she owed it to the slimy Argonian bastard and two thick headed Imperial dogs who had not known better than to pester her constantly about freedom and glamorized tales of brave Skyrim heroes. She would not call marching on the enemy thoughtlessly head on a heroic act. That was an ill-conceived act of foolishness. But people were blockheads who could not live with someone working behind the scenes. The heroes were always visible, marching at the foremost of armies, shouting battle cries and slaying people like madmen. People did not want a clever initiator, they wanted an icon, and general Tullius along with Jarl Elisif were more than ready to become those icons while Aislinn, the master among the sneaky thieves and the main mover in this war, would only end up as a tool. Luckily enough, people also tended to be drawn to the strange powers which she possessed and that secured her a safe spot on the top. And unlike Brynjolf who most obviously wanted to claim her for himself, Farkhali would not mind if Aislinn became the High Queen. A lot of things would change for the better in Skyrim. Although she doubted that the free-spirited young girl would ever accept such responsibility. A guild was like a family and she could easily kick any potential traitor out of there, but a country was a whole different story. The man who was standing right before her was the living proof of that, leading a rebellious group of outlaws who would ravage the land the moment one war was won.

"I must admit that I admire your courage, but that is as far as I acknowledge your attempts," he told her curtly. "You cannot possibly expect me to let an Imperial lackey lead my men. He does not understand our ways."

"He understands strategy, and from what I've seen, you could certainly use someone like that," she objected.

"And what have you seen, exactly, if you don't mind me asking?" he drawled contemptuously, his eyes narrow as he fixed his gaze on her mercilessly.

"Tell me, Highness, how many of your men can actually read?"

She knew she was overstepping her boundaries greatly, but her position required her to take risks and so she did. Surprisingly, the majestic man in front of her laughed and showed no sign of being offended whatsoever.

"I see," he said with a nod. "You are a perceptive one. You see, most of my men are quite simple-minded and I like to keep it that way. The beauty of simple-mindedness is that the person possessing such quality performs their tasks with exquisite purposefulness. Whatever I make them do, they accept it with absolute devotion and strive to see it through."

"And that is why you sent three thousands of your men to fight double the number of elves?" she asked doubtfully.

"Oh no," he replied and a wide smile bared his surprisingly well-kept teeth. "You and the elves may think I did, but in truth I sent about a tenth of that."

The black-furred Khajiit's icy blue eyes widened in shock and for a moment she was left speechless, unable to swallow what she had just heard. Then she broke the silence and her voice cracked as she did.

"You… you sent three _hundred_?"

The King nodded in affirmation.

"You sent them to their death!" she stuttered and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"I could have sent more," he whispered dangerously and took a step forward, making Farkhali look into his colorless eyes and freeze in place. "Either way, they would have been defeated. But do not be mistaken. General Tullius is not the only smart man walking the land of Skyrim. My men may be simple-minded, but they are not complete fools and they know the land much better than the elves do. By now, they might have realized my intentions, and if they did, they would also figure that escaping a hopeless situation is much easier in smaller numbers. I assure you that some of them will return. And by the time the elves realize that this is just a distraction, it will be too late."

This man was cruel and unbelievable. Farkhali stared at him in disbelief, having realized that he would not let anyone or anything stop him.

"Where did you send the rest of your men?" she inquired but a derisive smirk came in reply.

"You can take a guess," Madanach mocked.

"You told Aislinn, I mean the Dragonborn, that you would help her! I come in her name, as your ally, and you know it!"

"The Forsworn are acting upon her initiative," he pointed sternly. "We answer to her and her only. We will help her achieve what she wants, and for that, she will help us with what we want. And that's the end of it."

"She never agreed to anything like that," Farkhali snarled, knowing far too well that this was just an assumption of hers and had she shown any sign of hesitation, the sly King would use it against her for sure. And this was exactly why the thieves did not want to meddle in politics.

"Agreed or not, it does not matter," he said dismissively, but there was an almost imperceptible trace of doubt in his voice. "As long as the Forsworn make a difference in this war, she won't be able to overlook us."

Farkhali felt a sudden flush of excitement take over her. She had almost lost hope, but he had taken the bait and this was her chance. She smiled charmingly, her spell reaching for the exposed weakness. The atmosphere changed drastically and it seemed as though the air had gotten warmer and more welcoming. Madanach relaxed his muscles and his shoulders loosened noticeably, his awareness dropping ever so slightly. But it would be enough.

"I would not be so sure. Why take a chance, Your Highness?" she asked in a sweet tone and her light blue eyes pierced his, stunning him where he stood. "I know Aislinn well enough to say that she wouldn't put her trust in someone who just goes and does as he pleases, claiming the prize at the end. You trust her allies and work with them, you gain her trust in return. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

He gave her a disconcerted look and she could sense that he was trying to resist. But he had already fallen into the trap and she would get to him sooner or later.

"She would not dare…" he tried but Farkhali silenced him with a snort.

"Oh, she would definitely dare," she said meaningfully and paid him a bewitching look. "She would make sure that the reward was well-deserved. And the Forsworn barely mean anything to her… yet. But you can change it."

There was greed in his eyes. She had to laugh at herself secretly for not noticing it before. This man, however grand and impressive he wanted to seem, was actually quite weak in a sense. There was something he wanted so desperately that he was willing to sacrifice his so-called honor for that and even make his own men the pawns that they had been trying to eschew turning into in the first place. So wicked he was in his ways… just what did he want anyway? She would make sure to inform Aislinn of this lest it is up to her to decide what would become of him.

The best part was that she did not even have to lie to him. It was true that Aislinn would never carelessly reward anyone without having a good reason to. Even when it came to complimenting the members of the Guild, she always thought twice before uttering a word of praise. It might have been just her timidity, but this part of her was cool and cute at the same time. She was not afraid to throw the weaklings and traitors to the skeevers, but that just made it all the better when she actually decided to show any sign of respect or even affection for someone. For some reason, Farkhali suddenly decided that she would give her boss a big warm hug when this was all over, and she was looking forward to see the surprised face of the young guildmaster when she did.

Madanach's hoarse voice interrupted her train of thought.

"All right," he sighed in resignation. "I will do as you say, but I will not be treated as a subordinate of any of you and I will punish you severely at the first sign of possible betrayal. Are we clear on that?"

"We are not asking you to give us your men," Farkhali replied in a comforting voice and strengthened the spell slightly. "General Tullius will merely serve as a tactician and an experienced commander, but you will still have the upper hand. You just need to _trust_ his skills." The last sentence was emphasized and he shivered as the words reached him. He replied with a silent nod.

"So," she said in a conversational tone, "where did you send that army of yours?"

* * *

"So… you are absolutely sure you want to do this?" a silent voice asked. There was a face hidden under the hood and she could not see it clearly, but she knew its wearer well. He was dear to her, definitely supreme to any other being in Nirn, but he would only see her as a friend. Still, she had seen him suffer and she did not want to experience it ever again.

"Yes," she said a little shakily and watched the shadows of the torches dance around his feet. He was wearing heavy boots made in ebony and fine leather, gilded buckles with four-leaf clover decorations spanning from the top part of the shins to the tips of the toes. Ah, yes, the boots and this set of old-fashioned armor. They were his favorite as they represented the group he was so fond of. "Please, proceed."

"If I do this, there will be no way back," he warned her and his voice sounded distant and full of fear. "You will be bound here for eternity."

"I know," she whispered.

"Okay. Just lie down here." He pointed his finger to a platform. Tubes and pipes spread around it, coming from a device which was strangely familiar to her. A sudden wave of terror flooded her and she felt beads of sweat stand out on her forehead, but she had already made the choice and so she would not back away now. She forced herself to lie down on the platform and watched him as he pulled his gauntlets off and carefully slid up her sleeves and the lower part of her robes. Silently, she wished that he would continue and play with her, that he would somehow forget the reason they had come here for and grant her the heavenly pleasure that she had never been allowed to experience, but he did not. He pulled out four pipes, each of them ending in a sharp, pointed tip.

"Next time you wake up, the world might be a different place," he informed her. She nodded and he let out a sigh.

"I have never done anything like this…" he stammered and his hands hesitated. "I… I don't think this will be pleasant."

"It is… not supposed to be pleasant," she replied and closed her eyes. "Just… do it already."

"Farewell," he breathed. "I am losing yet another friend to eternity."

Then, a stabbing, sharp pain pierced through her and she let out a tormented scream. Right wrist. Then left. Left calf. And right. Then something flooded inside her and spread in her body, and something was taken from her in return. Blazing magma penetrated her veins and she cried. Thousands of white-hot blades cut through her flesh and venomous strings of doom tugged at her mind and soul. She could not breathe anymore, suffocating on a foul clump which had settled in her throat. For a moment, a flash of blinding light pierced into her eyes forced open with the sudden shock, but then the vision blurred and faded, leaving nothing but darkness.

Aislinn sat up abruptly, crumpling the blanket underneath her, and her eyes cracked open to look at the grey scenery of a hollow sheltered by a low ridge of rocks from three sides. Realizing she was still screaming, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, shaking heavily, tears pouring down her cheeks in wild streams. On her right was Lucia, staring at her in shock, motionlessly, obviously confounded and terrified of the display. Then she heard hurried footsteps and Brynjolf was there, panting as he approached her, an alarmed expression in his face.

"What happened?" he demanded in an urgent tone. She stared at him, trying to suppress her tears.

"A dream…" she whispered through her sobs. "Just a really bad and painful dream."

He studied her cautiously, carefully examining her body language, and she knew he was judging her state and considering posing further questions.

"I'm fine," she said wearily. "Just a little shocked."

"What did you dream about?" he asked and a touch of caring gentleness crept into his voice.

"I… don't want to…"

"No, lass," he cut her off firmly. "Not this time. I've come to learn that whenever you have visions or dreams, they always mean something. No more secrets for you, I want to know everything."

"You are greedy," she muttered grumpily and felt a part of the tension melt away. A slight sigh of relief escaped her lips but that did not placate her companion.

"That I am," he affirmed coolly, "and I can also be very stubborn when it comes to it."

She pinned her eyes into the ground beside her and took a deep breath.

"But this dream just felt so unreal," she said hopelessly.

"And judging from your reaction, it better be," he grumbled. "I'm listening."

Hesitantly, she started explaining, her low voice barely drowning out the humming murmur of the river flowing just a few hundred feet away from them. Hazily she remembered the man from her dream and fragments of their conversation. Her description was brief and superficial, but Brynjolf was not one to be taken for a fool in a conversation, and he pressed her for details quite mercilessly. She tried to equivocate, leaving the bits and pieces unspoken, but he always managed to notice, urging her to confess to the point when she was forced to reveal her feelings about the mysterious man. She hated how he paused at that, obviously mulling over it in his head. At that moment, she just wished to smack his head and yell at him from the top of her lungs. He was being unfair to her.

Finally, he had squeezed the last bit of information out of her and she pulled away from him, half hurt and half angry. He gave her a concerned look but she barely registered it, avoiding meeting his gaze.

"That… thing with tubes," Brynjolf said quietly, his hand playing with the hilt of his new enchanted dagger, "it was the same as the one in that laboratory where they had taken you before, right?"

"Probably," she muttered.

 _"Next time you wake up, the world might be a different place,"_ he quoted and she jerked a little. "I don't know, lass, this dream of yours sounds so real that it sends shivers down my spine."

"What do you think of it?" she dared to ask, peeking at him occasionally without raising her head.

"I don't know what to think. A fragment of your past, maybe? It did feel familiar to you, didn't it?"

"What if I find out that I'm a disgusting person who doesn't even deserve to live?" she whispered. "Or what if I learn that I am nobody at all? I… what have I been doing all this time?"

There was a laugh and she looked at him, startled and angered by the absurd reaction, but he pulled her closer and put an arm around her shoulders gently, his face just inches away from hers which made her gasp nervously.

"What does it matter, lass?" he asked in a comforting voice.

"What do you mean?" she returned hesitantly.

"I mean that it only matters who you are at the moment," he replied with a smile. "Who do you think I was?"

She gave him a curious look, studying his face and his turquoise eyes, but only mystery was waiting there, not revealing anything of his past. She shook her head.

"See?" he chuckled. "You haven't even thought about it before, because you simply don't care. Ah, don't take it the wrong way," he added quickly when she jerked to the side and tried to pull away again, "that's a good thing. You don't nag and no prejudice clouds your judgement. Or maybe you just don't care and take me for whatever I am. Either way, I'm grateful to you. You know, I saw how you asked every single member of the Guild about themselves, listened to their stories, but refrained from jumping to conclusions afterwards. I don't know about other people, but I am going to do the same for you. To me, you are Aislinn, the best damn thief in the place, as Delvin said, the proud Dragonborn who is not afraid to risk her life for the sake of others, even if she is infinitely naïve, the reckless fighter who somehow always finds her way out and the loving mother with a kind heart. Oh, and a bad cook and terrible singer." He winked at her.

"You just couldn't finish it off with the loving mother, could you?" she drawled in feigned exasperation but her curling lips gave her away. There was a movement on her side and the two of them quickly shifted apart as Lucia joined them. Aislinn flushed inadvertently, caught by surprise as she had forgotten that the little girl had been watching them the whole time.

"Mama," she called to her and her voice sounded unexpectedly merry. "Is uncle Brynjolf my new daddy?"

Aislinn coughed abruptly and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

"Shush, Luce!" she scolded her daughter sternly. Brynjolf roared with laughter, barely catching his breath.

"I thought you loved children and their straightforwardness," he teased with an utmost amused expression.

"Well, you're the one who's going to be stuck with her from now on," she smirked at him. "You're her daddy now."

"And what would I be to you then?" he invited, obviously enjoying the conversation more than Aislinn would have preferred. She looked at him, startled by the sudden boldness which made him drive her into a corner. She was now sure that he was desperately waiting for an answer from her, and he would not let a single chance slip away.

"My daughter's new toy," she answered evasively. He furrowed his brows as the answer he had received was clearly not to his liking, but refrained from commenting on it. An unpleasant silence broke out.

Aislinn rose after a while and took off her armor, leaving only Ri'saad's tunic to cover her body. She picked up a clean shirt and a pair of tights that she had recovered from Dragon's Bridge and informed her two companions that she would go take a bath. Brynjolf nodded and watched her walk away, some of the recent bitterness retreating from his mind as he noticed the slight excitement in her face. She must have been looking forward to wash herself desperately, and the Nine knew she deserved it.

He turned away from her and watched Lucia who had just pulled a piece of bread out of Aislinn's backpack. He thought of stopping her since they had to be careful not to use up their supplies too hastily, but decided against it. The little girl seemed like she needed some energy, and with the exception of that one moment a while before, she mostly kept silent and timid which made him a little nervous and worried. The little lass appeared even more mysterious than her adoptive mother which was something he had not thought possible before.

"I thought uncle Vilkas would become my daddy," she spoke suddenly and Brynjolf jerked a little in surprise.

"Who's uncle Vilkas?" he asked, curious and, strangely enough, a little irked.

"A warrior from Jorrvaskr," she said and a great deal of admiration issued from her voice. "He sometimes went with mama on a mission. She brought him home a couple of times. He smells a little funny but I bet he would be able to slay a giant no problem."

 _Smells a little funny,_ Brynjolf thought amusedly. _Maybe she has a thing for that. I'm a filthy thief, in the end._

"Oh, and sometimes uncle Vorstag came for a visit," she continued and Brynjolf started to curse her sudden eloquence. Maybe it would have been better if she had stayed silent. "He really likes mama, but I think she doesn't like him in return."

"What is uncle Vorstag like?" he asked her, failing to suppress his curiosity.

"He's really nice. We went fishing a couple of times. He makes the best apple pies and is knowledgeable about flowers and animals. I think mama considers him too sweet for a warrior."

"Oh? So what is uncle Vilkas like?"

"Uncle Vilkas? He's different from uncle Vorstag. When he first came to our house, it seemed like he almost hated mama. I was pretty scared of him then, but mama kept bringing him home and one day he just started being nice."

 _Ah, so the lass likes the challenge,_ he smiled to himself. _Maybe I took it all wrong._ But then again, he was not keen on pretending to be someone else. Either the lass would accept him or he would have to retreat eventually. But somehow, he felt possessive towards her, as though she was a precious piece of loot that he absolutely refused to give up. He was a thief, after all, and thieves have an unusually strong sense of pride. To let someone else steal what they had claimed for themselves? No way.

He shifted a little as he heard the lass approach. She was dressed in clean clothes and water was dripping from her wet hair, making it stick to her temples and cheeks. The limp locks seemed darker than usual and emphasized the bright golden eyes that stared from her smooth face. It made her all the more appealing and Brynjolf turned away to hide the sudden flush he felt warming his cheeks.

She walked past him and put on her armor immediately, hiding most of her body from his sight. Then she spoke to both him and her daughter.

"Before we take off, I'd like to try something," she announced. Both of them looked up to her inquisitively and she turned to Lucia.

"Luce, would you like to learn a Shout?"

"You would teach me a Shout?" the girl's eyes widened and she looked at her eagerly. "Like… the Shout that you do when you fight?"

"Yes," Aislinn affirmed and smiled at her daughter.

"All right!" Lucia jumped out and her eyes sparkled with excitement. Aislinn patted her head tenderly and stepped towards her.

"I will tell you just one word first. Try to repeat it after me," she told her and bent down to the girl slightly. Then she opened her mouth and a mere whisper came out.

 _"Laas."_

Lucia stared at her curiously and hesitated a little before pronouncing the word.

"Laas."

There was something off about it. It sounded empty, hollow, and Aislinn could feel no power in it whatsoever. Like this, it almost did not sound like the dragon language at all.

"Can you try it again?" she asked.

"Laas," the girl repeated obediently but nothing changed.

"This is strange," Aislinn said after a moment of awkward silence, perplexed by the unexpected development. "Do you think that maybe Durnehviir was wrong?" she mused as she turned to Brynjolf. He answered with a confused shrug.

"Asking me about dragons is like asking Vex about the meaning of peace," he said helplessly.

Aislinn frowned and turned back to her daughter.

"Try to feel the word," she encouraged her. "I will repeat it once more. It should hum inside you."

"But it does," the girl objected. "It means 'life', right?"

Aislinn's eyes widened. She put her hands on Lucia's shoulders and took a deep breath. Her daughter was indeed a Dragonborn and she understood the language. But still…

"So, can you feel anything?" she inquired. "Anything at all. I mean… can you feel it in your body as well as in your mind? Or can you maybe even see anything around you that wasn't there before?"

The girl shook her head.

"Let's try it again," Aislinn decided and spoke the word again. And again, it returned to her devoid of power and emotion. She tried to add the two following words, hoping that her daughter would perhaps understand it better if the whole Shout was presented to her, but the result repeated itself over and over again.

"I don't understand," she sighed in resignation after over an hour of unsuccessful attempts. "This does not make any sense. She can make out the meaning without me telling her, which is something I usually cannot do myself… but when she tries to actually use the words, nothing happens."

Brynjolf patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her, but she paid no attention to his gesture. She walked a short distance toward the river and then back again, and arrived to the conclusion that there was no point in mulling over things that she had no chance of understanding. She clearly did not have enough information to work with. They had to be on their way soon so they would minimize the chances of getting caught due to staying at one place for too long, and there were three dragons awaiting them. She grew anxious with every step they took in their direction, knowing fully well that they might pose a threat she had never encountered before. But then again… surely they would not be worse than the World-Eater, would they?

She prompted her two companions to pack their things and took care of covering the traces of their presence. Shadowmere waited for them behind the bushes nearby and she loaded him with their backpacks tied together by a strong rope. He protested mildly, opposed to the thought of becoming a mere pack mule, and Aislinn had to spend a while persuading him. Talking Shadowmere into something always proved to be a challenge since the mighty crimson-eyed stallion could not be bribed with any kind of treat. She had to make up stories about how they would hunt down bandits and raid their camps and forts when the time was right, and she suspected that the clever horse never actually believed a word of what she said to him. Nevertheless, he gave in at last and the group set for their destination, vaguely described as the place even the darkness fears.

Aislinn was walking quietly along the rest of her friends, wondering what she was going to learn once they retrieved the Elder Scroll. For some reason, every day brought a new discovery and she was growing more and more restless at the thought of any new piece of information. There were barely any good news after all. And today she had learnt that her Dragonborn daughter could not Shout.

* * *

 _Sorry for the delay again. I have gotten sick with tonsillitis and it has become really hard for me to concentrate on writing the story down. Then again, I don't want to stop completely because I have a ton of ideas which are literally asking to be recorded, and so I need to write for the peace of mind. And not only I have ideas for this story, several others that I won't be able to use in this one have crossed my mind and I really want to use them somewhere, so if something huge doesn't change my mind, I can promise you that this story is definitely not the last one you'll see here from me. I might also want to expand my already expanded Elder Scrolls universe (hmmm, should I call it AU? Then again, I don't really alter the things that are already in the games, in fact, I quite enjoy working around them – and by the way, this fact is important to note, since especially in the upcoming chapters a certain part of the game will become essential and I will not really explain much of it in the story) and add a few side stories featuring some of the characters from this one (namely Farkhali and the Hunter since, as you might have noticed, I kind of tend to think of them as my favorites :D)._

 _That said, I have come across someone asking if they could maybe borrow some characters and write a story related to mine. I also noticed a few people asking the authors who went on hiatus here if they could finish the story for them. I was surprised to actually find out that the authors are not really keen on the idea. Well, it's true that it might happen that someone just spoils the story and writes something I would even be ashamed of reading, but then again, I am here writing fanfiction, using someone else's work as a foundation for my own, so how can I even think of forbidding other people from doing the same? So, if you feel like writing something based on my story (or maybe drawing pictures, composing songs or anything that comes to your mind), feel free to do so, I don't mind. Still, if you do, please do mention my name at the beginning. I would also be happy to receive a word from you that you are doing so._

 _Okay, one thing about Lydia and Chillrend. If, by any chance, you read Myrielle's Dragonrend (or if, by any chance, Myrielle herself reads this, which I highly doubt since this story is really nothing compared to her masterpiece), please do not assume that I am copying her. I pretty much use the things I did in the game as the basic setting of the story, and so it seems the two of us had the same idea of giving Chillrend to Lydia. It's just a detail but I know of it and I don't want to change it since this blade is super cool (literally!) and I think it suits Lydia well._

 _To Twillin: Man, you can be pretty evil, do you know that? That said, Aislinn is too. Well, there certainly are things she would kill for… :D_

 _To the Guest who commented on chapter 24 (I don't know which one you are, but there is a name field above the field for the guest review, so if you fill it in next time, I can address you properly): I hope this chapter has answered your question about the armies. I did not really explain how it came to this development though and I will look for the right moment to mention that in the story since it might be quite confusing for you. Still, most of the important facts were already mentioned in the story so you can try to figure it on your own. :)_

 _To everyone else: Thank you so much for your support! This story is not so popular here but I noticed an increase in favs/follows with the last published chapter. Not sure if it's going to continue like this but along with the reviewers you still make me very happy!_

 _Stay tuned. :)_

 _Mirwen_


	26. Dancing on the Edge

**Chapter 26: Dancing on the Edge**

"How much longer are we supposed to wait?!" a soldier, one of the many occupying the cramped campsite with a huge fire that seemed to take up most of the space in the center, exclaimed in an irked voice and Karliah cursed them in her thoughts yet again. Why did the soldiers have to be so loud? And why, when it was quiet, did it always seem like something was missing? This place was so different from the Ragged Flagon and the Thieves Guild, and, having had to spend most of the last week here, she definitely did not feel comfortable around the rowdy soldiers who mostly drank, sang off tune and fought amongst themselves fiercely. The more they waited, the more restless they grew, and if there was quiet, it always meant that something was wrong and the soldiers needed to boost up their morale. Legate Marcus, props to him, never failed with his bold statements and promises to drive out the Thalmor, and one of the more cultivated soldiers had even taken his words right out of his mouth and created his own version of _The Age of Oppression_ based on them. But how she had become fed up with it when all she had heard from then on was this song. And she had never liked the original anyway. The thieves were never cut out for war and, by the Grace of Nocturnal, she loved silence and quiet life in the shadows. The only thing that could attract her to the point she would let herself be driven out of her comfort zone was the sweet ringing and the warm golden glow of coin, and gods knew that the soldiers did not carry any, nor did they equip themselves with any valuables worth stealing. How she was looking to finally get out of this mess… but she did not know that would come sooner than she would have expected and maybe not exactly the way she would have wanted it to.

A voice called out to her and she looked over her shoulder to see a patrolling soldier in light leather armor waving at her. A surprisingly skinny man with his dark hair plaited up in a set of thin stylish braids tied with simple rings of silver wire at their ends. He looked at her with bright, perceptive eyes and she thought that he would have made a fine thief. Ah, yes, legate Marcus was one hulk of a man, always exhibiting his muscles proudly, waving his warhammer as though it was a wooden dagger and initiating bragging contests all the time, but looking beyond his burly appearance, one could see his clever side. He had not been named a legate for nothing and one of the things that he certainly made sure of was that the patrols were reliable men with perhaps more brains than muscles. Maybe this side of him was what had kept him alive while the other high-ranking Imperial soldiers had been vanquished one by one by the Thalmor. He was straightforward… but only when he felt comfortable enough to. Not bad.

She jumped up on her feet nimbly and grabbed two backpacks which lay at her feet, one of them belonging to Aislinn. She knew her Dragonborn master well enough to discard the mere thought of looking inside, aware of how dangerous it could prove to her, and so she just carried the mysterious luggage around, never letting it out of her sight. However, what she would do with it when the time came to set out for her mission, was another question.

"Lady Karliah, yes?" the soldier asked and nodded in her direction. When she nodded back, he continued. "You have a guest at the gate."

A guest? If it was the guest she was expecting, then she had to commend the Khajiit for being fast as the wind. She joined the soldier and together they walked through an alley of oak trees with leaves of red and gold casting a number of scattered minuscule shadows on their figures. The sun was rising to its highest and the air was clear and fresh, and despite her love for darkness and shadows, Karliah found the midday breeze pleasant and soothing.

They reached a palisade made of fine oak trunks sticking up dangerously in a series of sharp tips. A wooden gate led outside, its wings open ajar, and a number of guards stood around it as well as on the low square-based watchtowers on either side. A little aloof, several muscled men were reconstructing a singed part of the palisade as it had suffered from a recent attack. Karliah had not been there at that time but apparently a small number of Marcus's men had died, their bodies cremated and the ashes stored to be delivered to their families later. A few smaller skirmishes had occurred but overall it was mostly quiet and Karliah suspected that the elves were planning something big. She did not like it and neither did legate Marcus.

A hooded woman in stitched cream-colored robes was waiting for her at the gate, her shoulders a little stiff and her back bent slightly as she clearly was not used to standing, much less traveling longer distances. Karliah smiled at her as she approached and spoke to her in her usual composed manner.

"How many birds of prey does it take to kill three nightingales?" she asked.

"None, for the shadows are their allies and Nocturnal guides their step," the woman replied promptly, her honeyed voice ringing sweetly, and the guards froze the moment they realized that this voice belonged to an elf. Karliah raised her hand in a calming gesture.

"She is a friend, there's no need to worry," she informed and beckoned to the guest to follow her. They made their way to a small grove of bushes protected by a number of rocks from the west and north which Karliah liked to use as her resting place, and sat down on two comfortable looking boulders.

"Galathil," Karliah said finally. "So good to see you again."

"Good to see you too," she replied melodically. "I was informed that you had a special job for me. Just what could a master thief have for me in this war that I could possibly achieve?"

"A challenge," Karliah chuckled silently and the woman raised her head ever so slightly. "I need you to change my irises back to red."

The woman gasped in surprise at such a request and Karliah could sense her attentive gaze from under her hood.

"Why in Oblivion would you want me to do that? This is a gift bestowed upon you by Nocturnal. And don't look at me like that," she added when the Dunmer woman raised her brows in question, "my training was not for nothing. I know when daedric magic is involved in people's appearance. That kind of magic is not something to be trifled with."

"Can't you just make it look like they're red? It's really important."

"Just what are you going to do once they are?"

"I can't tell you… but the Whiterun army is supposed to arrive tomorrow at noon and I need to be on my way then."

"Nocturnal might forsake you for that," Galathil lowered her voice in a warning and scratched the back of her hand inadvertently.

"I hope not. I am trying to defend our position and I do it as a thief and as a Nightingale, in a way that she herself teaches us. And I am working on behalf of her champion who retrieved the Skeleton Key for her and would gladly do it again were it necessary. She cannot possibly overlook that."

"Let us see about that," Galathil proposed and Karliah granted her another of her rare questioning looks. "I think we can ask Nocturnal whether such a change would be okay and maybe plead for her permission," she added in explanation, "but since there is no altar of hers here, we will need to make some arrangements. We need a piece of her champion, a piece of her foe and then a piece of you. Can you do that?"

"A piece of me is easy," Karliah mused, "but a piece of her champion and a piece of her foe? Aislinn is not here and I don't even know who her foe is."

"It could be anything. A hair, a piece of a broken nail, scratched skin… she was here a little over a week ago, right? Did she leave anything behind?"

"Her backpack," Karliah sighed. "You don't want to tell me I have to open it, right?"

"But that's wonderful! There must be a piece of her in her backpack, no?"

"Do you even know what you're talking about? This thing… who knows what's inside?"

"Well, it's either this or we're stuck here without a solution," Galathil shrugged. "I have no idea what your boss carries in her backpack, and given who she is and how she attracts just about any and every deity or Daedra there is, there might be tons of dangerous trinkets inside, but maybe it's still worth the risk. I don't know about your mission so it's your call."

"We need to find a safe spot where absolutely no-one would watch or listen to us," Karliah decided.

They rose and walked through the camp, passing fires and groups of soldiers on their way. They traversed the whole space inside the palisade campsite by campsite, ignoring the loud voices of the unsettled soldiers, and repeated it several times more afterwards, but no place seemed good enough for performing such a strange ritual. Karliah did not want to explain herself to legate Marcus, and so they decided to leave the camp. Luckily, she had a special permission to leave whenever she needed, but that did not stop the soldiers guarding the gate from throwing suspicious looks at her. She tried to shrug it off but still felt a little uneasy about them. It was their job, of course, and she was glad in a way that they were so cautious that it was absolutely impossible to sneak past them, but somehow it hurt her pride as a thief and a Nightingale.

With the camp behind them, they finally settled in a small cave nearby. Karliah checked every crevice and depression there was and then set a number of special shadow runes that would alert her if someone was nearing the entrance. Then the two of them sat down, lit a small fire and opened Aislinn's backpack warily. Karliah took out a soul gem and studied it, hoping she would find a hair stuck to it, but its surface was smooth and shiny and nothing disrupted the sleek matter. She handed it to Galathil so she could examine it once more and took out another one. The process repeated countless times, gem after gem, potion after potion, then some keys, scrolls… there was a set of spare clothes and Karliah's violet eyes sparkled with hope that maybe something stuck to the fabric, but, reaching for it, a hard coarse object slid under her fingers and practically made itself be drawn out of the luggage.

Suddenly, she was holding a book in her hand, large and heavy, with a hard withered cover made in black leather, a tangled ornate symbol decorating its front side. Karliah blinked in surprise, for this was not the thing she had meant to pull out, but she felt drawn to it and knew she could not let go now. Galathil stared at her curiously, studying her startled face, but Karliah ignored her. Involuntarily, as if some higher power was controlling her movements, her hand hovered over the cover and then opened the book slowly. Her companion gasped but Karliah could not hear her anymore. A kaleidoscope of strange ornaments and diagrams appeared before her, entwining with each other in a strange and somehow maddening sequence, and it was getting closer and closer, larger and ready to swallow her whole being. Dark and threatening, there were numbers and letters, shapes and objects, thousands of years of existence recorded in that one book, threatening and overwhelming. She heard silent flipping of the pages, the dry sound of old dusty paper echoing in her ears strangely emphasized, and then her body was lifted and thrown into a world of darkness different from any that she had encountered in her whole life. The servant of darkness was now to be tested by darkness itself.

* * *

Lydia slid off her horse in absolute silence and crouched. Her ebony mail, designed to hide her from unwanted attention and also rid her of it if there happened to be any, emitted cloudlets of dark vapors spiraling about her and dissipating into the air afterwards. There was a trap door in the ground, carefully hid by a sediment of leaves and soil, but a sharp eye could notice that the way they lay there was not quite natural. She swept them off and raised the wooden panel by its rusty circular handle, and a creaking sound tore through the air in an unpleasantly noisy manner. She climbed down the ladder that led underneath it and left it open in case of emergency.

The cave below was nice and cozy, a few boulders covered by a fluffy blanket of soft moss lay across it flooded by the golden glow coming from a natural vent above them. There was refreshing moisture in the air and Lydia suspected that an underground creek was running nearby, its vapors seeping through the walls. It was quiet, only the flipping fiery wings of a few dawn moths interrupted it with their whispering hisses. A number of barrels, crates and chests was scattered around the stones, but Lydia frowned as she noticed they had been ravaged and emptied to the last speck of breadcrumb. This was not a good news.

She made her way back to her horse and covered the trap door with dust and leaves again, pricking her ears for any kind of movement. Upon finishing with the door, she looked around attentively. There were several sets of footprints and traces of horses, each pointing in different directions. The Khajiit caravan must have come from the northeast and then go back the same way, since a trail made by a few carriages seemed to have been blazed that way. Just how in Oblivion had they managed to hide a whole caravan like that remained mystery to the housecarl. Then again, if they were so skilled, maybe the trail itself was just a decoy to confuse potential enemies. She shook her head in despair. There was absolutely no lead she could follow.

 _Think, Lydia, think,_ she ordered herself sternly and her brows furrowed with concentration. A caravan northeast, potentially. Due east was Eastmarch and no elven army should have been able to come from there. They would first have to battle Jarl Balgruuf and his men first. But, come to think of it, it had almost been a week since he had left Whiterun and if the army had come from Windhelm, perhaps they could have avoided the encounter. Still, that would mean they would have to stick to the roads and that left them with little choice on their passage. So due north and north northeast was a possibility. She discarded south and southeast. That way lay High Hrothgar and the Rift. The Rift had been taken by her Thane and the army of Riften and no-one would be foolish enough to traverse the ridge around High Hrothgar with an army… or would they? Due west was Whiterun and its farms and plains, so that area was guarded. And southwest… southwest lay Falkreath and its hold.

She let out a snort of disgust as she remembered its jarl, a man of repulsive character whose only concern was coin and rank. She would bet her life that he had been the first one to let the Thalmor do as they please under the potentially false promise of wealth and comfort. He did not care for either side as long as he was allowed to sit on his piles of gold, and he was also known to stand at the ready to seize any opportunity to march on Whiterun and Balgruuf, for he lived in fear of the insightful and independent Jarl.

She sighed when she realized that her options were narrowed to two complete opposite directions. So Windhelm or Falkreath…

Deciding that Windhelm was far too preoccupied with defending against the allied armies of Whiterun and Riften, she made for southwest. Still, there was something off about all this. If a Khajiit had stopped by and informed Vignar of a new threat, why wouldn't they tell him the exact location? They knew where the elves would attack, so how come they did not know where from?

Then she froze. Foul smell coming from behind attracted her attention and she turned around to see its source. There were pillars of smoke lingering over the northern horizon. North? Really? Were the elves so foolish? Even more foolish for setting up a camp at such a spot, the city of Whiterun on one side and Balgruuf's army on the other? She ran a short distance and then slowed down considerably, crouching eventually as she reached a low mountain belt. Avoiding the narrow pass which would reveal her immediately, she climbed up a rocky hill, struggling with every step she took as her ebony boots kept sliding off the smooth rock. When she finally reached the unwelcoming summit, she was catching her breath and trembling with exhaustion. Still, there was work to be done and so she stayed low and measured each step of hers carefully, stopping the moment the elven camp appeared in her sight.

Now she had to admit that the elves were clever. There was no telling their numbers, their camp being scattered among the rocks and trees, small groves and cliffs concealing most of it from Lydia's sight. No matter where she would look from, she would never be able to guess the extent of their forces, and the mountains surrounding the area would serve them as a natural fortification. The elves were naturally nimbler than the sturdy Nords and forcing their enemy into such chaos surely worked to their advantage. Lydia knit her brows in a concerned expression, deciding she would make haste and inform the Steward of the dire situation they had found themselves in as soon as possible. They had to start making preparations before it was too late.

* * *

Endless mist spread over the marshes and the annoying dampness was slowly getting under the skin of the duo that walked with their backs bent through the grey. The both suffered from the lack of sleep, recent injuries and also great mental strain, exhaustion reflecting in their faces clear as the night skies visible from High Hrothgar. They were beyond grateful for the black stallion treading at their side who eased them of their burdens, carrying three stuffed backpacks on his back along with the little girl who was holding tightly to his elegant nape. They walked in silence, not a word interrupted the squelching sounds of their boots wading through the mud and swamps.

The two thieves kept listening to the sounds of their surroundings, mere whispers in the reeds and murmurs coming from the deep of the dark waters. No suspicious noises reached their ears and so they continued at a steady pace, Shadowmere matching it perfectly while the girl on his back was slowly dozing off into a trance.

Aislinn slowed down a little, noticing Brynjolf gasping for air, and turned to him with a hint of concern in her eyes.

"Still hurts?" she asked him, waving towards his chest where he had been slashed before. The ebony scales at that place had been removed from the armor and attached anew in a way they would not strain him anymore but the mending was not perfect, having been done in field conditions. She had used a healing spell on him, of course, and forced him to down a potion just to be on the safe side, but having stayed untreated for a long time, the wound had caused him considerable loss of blood, for, proud as the master thief was, he had not bothered informing the lass of the gravity of his injury. Therefore he grew weak and the constant moving around exhausted him to no end. She had not said a word about it, clearly blaming herself for everything that had happened to him, and he had not commented on her silence simply for the fact that he did not know how to approach the subject.

"No, I'm fine," he lied. "Don't bother about me."

She frowned, apparently unconvinced by his words. She was starting to curse men and their pride in her thoughts, but her own conscience made her stop and ruminate over her own personality, not unlike his in this particular aspect. No, she was no different, constantly trying to hide her feelings, her fears and wounds, mental or physical alike. Somehow she could not help a slight smile, gaining her a raised brows and a questioning look from her companion.

"You know," she said silently, "we're not so different after all."

He got her hint and chuckled.

"This is going to be the death of us," he sighed with a shake of his head.

"Let's take a break," she offered and he nodded, but then she froze where she stood and her eyes widened in shock. Brynjolf looked at her puzzled and his gaze slid to the spot she was looking at. He frowned. Shadowmere by their side had ceased his movement as well and the three of them stared at the horrible sight before them.

There, among the low bushes on a mound covered in moss and lichen, two poles stuck out of the ground, pointing to the sky, and they were topped with two heads. They must have been killed recently, for the state of their decay was not too advanced, but the foul odor of death was spreading around them already, filling Aislinn's nostrils with the feeling of utter disgust. But that was not in the least the worst thing about it.

She knew them. She had known both of them, recognizing the bronze hair, now messy and faded as the dirt settled there and the harsh wind ruffled them mercilessly, framing the once upon a time beautiful face of soft and yet somehow firm and rough features of a Nord warrior, just as she identified the other one, a black haired man with wide nose and sincere eyes, always wearing a mask of sadness and exhaustion. Aislinn was holding her breath, unable to say a word and staring motionlessly at the sight, but a sudden movement at her sight caught her attention and she dragged the little girl off the horse before she could fully open her eyes, pressing her to her chest in a tight embrace.

"Mama…" Lucia murmured to her armor in confusion only to be interrupted by Aislinn.

"Don't look, Lucia," she whispered in horror. "You absolutely must not turn around, you hear me? You must not…"

She felt Brynjolf put a hand on her shoulder and getting closer to her.

"Who are… who were they?" he asked softly, clearly understanding the situation.

"My housecarl in Solitude and… Addvar… he had a daughter."

Lucia jerked a little and Aislinn suddenly had to fight her daughter to prevent her from looking.

"Uncle Addvar?!" she gasped. "What happened to him?"

Aislinn cussed in her thoughts for having forgotten that they had lived in Solitude for some time and Lucia knew the local folk. It should have occurred to her… but she refused to let the girl have the slightest look nonetheless, forcing her to walk with her back to the mound.

"I'm sorry, Brynjolf," she breathed helplessly in apology, "I can't stop just yet."

He nodded, patting her on her shoulder gently. Silently he wished she did not wear her armor so he could convey his feelings and comfort her a little more intimately, but he resisted the urge for now and remained a silent support for her. They sped up a little, leaving the horrendous sight behind, and did not stop until late afternoon. Only then they settled under the canopy of pine trees creating a grove protected by low rocks which lay in one of the drier places they crossed. Aislinn was restless, even more than before, and Brynjolf frowned as he glanced at her, his forehead wrinkled with worry. Lucia stared at the two of them for a moment and then decided to join Shadowmere and have a snack with him, her expression sad but understanding.

"They know where we're heading," Aislinn informed the thief wearily. "Those two were not exhibited there for nothing. They know exactly which way we're going and they will greet us there."

"How could they know?" Brynjolf shook his head in incomprehension. "Do you think that Aldmer…"

"I have no idea," she sighed. "I don't think so, but that leaves Alduin as the only potential suspect. At least the only one I know of. But how he could figure out what I'm trying to do, I really don't have a clue."

"Maybe he knows something you don't," he mused, staring at a cluster of suspicious looking mushrooms which grew in between the roots of one of the pine trees.

"Something about the Aldmer?" Aislinn seized his idea and clasped her hands, finally making one of the boulders her temporary seat, and Brynjolf joined her. "If he does, then that means they have met before… or at least Alduin has heard of him. Or of something associated to him."

"Still not much of a lead, eh?" Brynjolf snorted bitterly. "It can be anything that wretch has done in the past four thousand years, that's a pretty broad scale if you ask me."

"But that's it!" Aislinn said, suppressing the urge to exclaim. "Alduin wasn't here for most of that time, so it's either something he has done recently, or something that the World-Eater had known before."

"Still leaves you with a bunch of possibilities, I'd say. What happened then?"

"Hmmm… as far as history goes… to be honest, I don't know much. Beastfolk such as Argonians and Khajiit are known to have occupied Tamriel before anyone else. Then came the mer and then the Atmorans, worshippers of dragons and also their doom."

"That guy knows to Shout, you know…" Brynjolf pointed out.

"…which means he had to learn it somewhere," she added, "and since it wasn't the Greybeards, for Arngeir seemed too surprised for that, or the dragons who weren't here during that time, the only option left are the undead dragon priests."

"The Greybeards could have taught him. Four thousand years is long enough time to forget one student."

"True…"

She sighed and looked the way they had come from. Brynjolf leaned closer to her and put an arm around her shoulders in a comforting gesture.

"Don't blame yourself," he told her softly. "You're only doing what you have to. If someone's to blame, it's the blasted Dominion."

"Just how many have to die until they're satisfied?" she asked, despair molding her face into a painful grimace.

"They won't be satisfied until they get you," the thief said and the absoluteness of his statement made Aislinn's heart sink, "and that's not happening. Not if I have a word in it."

"Don't you dare die for me, Brynjolf," she frowned at him. "I can't lose you. I absolutely cannot lose you."

He stared at her in silence for a moment, studying her face torn between despair and anxiety, but there was also something else to it, something he could not identify. Or, rather, he dared not to.

"Lass…" he whispered. She leaned to him, wrapping her arms around him, squeezing him in a tight embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder and he shivered, suddenly overtaken by desire. She was so innocent… but he wanted more, more of that sweetness, more of the silky touch of her skin and the warmth of her lips. But he stopped himself, refusing to take advantage of her weakness. She needed him to support her, not devour her. Any other woman in his life he had taken and savored, claiming her body like a beast one moment and discarding it the other. But any other woman would have been obnoxious and clingy, wearing a mask of fake desires and lust, prepared and almost craving for his harsh treatment. Not this one, and he suddenly felt like a child, inexperienced and lost as to how he should approach her.

A roar interrupted them and they both raised their heads to see a dragon tearing through the air in a breathtaking speed. The two of them stiffened and reached for their bows instinctively, but the reptile paid them no more attention than he did to the birds and flies giving way to it as it passed them. It was flying northwest, towards Solitude, and Aislinn knit her brows at the thought of the city and its citizens getting ravaged by its merciless Voice. More sacrifices… she felt the sudden urge to move out as quickly as possible, to hurry and fulfill her destiny before all Skyrim falls.

"That dragon looks so sad," a voice echoed and she looked at Lucia who approached them with an unsettled look in her face. Aislinn gave her a curious look.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"I just… feel it," the girl said, shaking her head.

"And why does it feel sad?"

"Because… he doesn't know who he is."

Aislinn froze. How can a dragon not know who he is? Still, she had learnt not to discard her daughter's words for the girl often saw and felt what others could not, and so she contemplated them slowly, but no answer came.

They had a quick meal during which Aislinn decided to teach Lucia the basics about magic. She had to be able to defend herself somehow and, having a small frail body, she was barely able to wield a dagger. Aislinn was not too skilled in the arcane arts herself but she could at least teach Lucia a few spells and help her master them by constant training. And so by the end of their break, Lucia knew in theory how to cast sparks, a healing spell, lesser ward and oakflesh. Lucia was a sharp and perceptive student, but the lack of time worked against her. Aislinn wished she could just send her to Winterhold and have her trained there by real masters, but given the constant threat that lingered over the land, that was not an option. Still, the fact that Lucia might have to fight soon burdened Aislinn greatly. She did not want her little girl to get involved in violence, much less killing. But she would still prefer it over her death.

"We should be on our way," she said finally when the meal had been finished and everything packed up.

"But mama, we haven't even started learning!" the girl protested fiercely, her eyes sparkling vividly as they seldom had during the last few days. Aislinn sighed.

"I know," she told her helplessly, "but we can't stay here. The elves are after us and we need to get to our destination as soon as possible."

Lucia's excitement gave way and she stooped her shoulders in disappointment, but said nothing, mounting Shadowmere again. They continued through the marshes, silence taking over again, zigzagging from one rock to another in attempt to find shelter before the ever present menace. No sooner did they stop than a low rock appeared before them, rising in the middle of the marshes, Solitude Bay and the Blue Palace on its left and an ancient Nordic ruin on the right. And there, casting long shadows in the fiery dusk, stood a great number of elves, their eyes searching the land attentively. Aislinn sighed despite having expected so, stopping Shadowmere a short distance from where she stood to make sure he and Lucia would not get spotted.

"At least we now know where the place is," she said breathlessly, a bitter smirk showing in her face.

"What do we do?" Brynjolf asked, knitting his brows at the sight.

"Distract them, kill them or…" Aislinn's voice trailed off as she held her breath. The shades were making it harder to see but she noticed something else beside the elves on the rocky hill. There were figures, quite a lot of them, strikingly stiff and motionless. Each of them was accompanied by at least two elves who watched them cautiously.

"This can't be true," she whispered in horror. Brynjolf raised his brows in question but then he looked closely and his eyes narrowed.

"Oh shit," he said unscrupulously.

"Take Lucia and get away from here," she ordered him. "I'm going alone."

"Oh no, you're not," he told her sternly but she shook her head.

"I have to get there. There's no chance we're going to make it unnoticed if there's three of us, Brynjolf, no matter how good of a thief you are. And if they do notice us…" She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"Lass…"

"Do you know how many people they have there? They're going to kill them all!"

"You can't possibly think that I'd let _you_ get killed by yourself there, lass…"

"I'm trying to save the whole country, dammit Brynjolf!" she hissed, clenching her fists and fighting the urge to scream. "I can't possibly just go and sacrifice half of it just because I'm fulfilling that so-called destiny of mine!"

He watched her with a torn up expression, anxious and helpless, and for a moment Aislinn thought he was about to cry. She backed away a little, suddenly unsure of how to react to that, but before she could say or do anything, he put his arms around her and squeezed her tightly as one can squeeze a warrior in a daedric armor. She gasped and then she felt his hand in her hair, burying itself deep and caressing her gently.

"Just a while before you told me something," he breathed, "and now I'm going to return the favor. I cannot lose you, lass. I absolutely cannot lose you."

An infinite scale of questions she could pose flooded Aislinn's mind. _Why can't you lose me? Do you love me? Why are you telling me? Do you mean it? Why me?_ So many questions… and so many questions regarding those questions. She wished to have a long nice conversation with him, to settle these things and talk everything out, but they barely found the time to talk about the pressing matters concerning their mission, let alone their feelings. She sighed.

"You won't lose me," she told him reassuringly. "After all, if you did, it would mean the end for everyone. I'm not going to let that happen. By the Nine, I swear it won't happen."

"The Nine are the ones who are responsible for all this mess," he snorted bitterly.

"I'm not swearing _on_ them," she said quietly.

"Then what are you swearing on?"

She pulled away from him, creating a short distance between them and then walked back to Shadowmere. Patting Lucia on her head, she took her backpack and watched the thief who was staring at her expectantly. Aislinn wanted to give him a good parting gift. She took a few steps towards him and inhaled deeply.

"I swear," she whispered so only he and he alone could hear her voice, "on my love to you that I will return safely."

With that, she dared give him a soft peck on his lips and walked away, leaving him there, frozen and breathless, wanting to reach for her and pull her back to him but finding himself unable to do so. He watched her figure walk away and his chest tightened so much it hurt. If he ran after her now, he would give away both of them. He clenched his fists and prayed silently to Nocturnal for her safety.

* * *

Aislinn crouched and circled the elevation several times, studying every boulder, every crevice and bump there was, every spot covered with moss that would soften her footsteps, every piece of vegetation that could possibly give her out. From time to time, she whispered a Shout to reveal all the living creatures there and search for possible gaps between them. Then she finally found her path, steep and narrow as it led over a smooth mass of rock, but the smoothness would also mean less noise if she treaded lightly. She absolutely had to avoid walking through the graveled areas which there were plenty. When she finally considered her knowledge of the place sufficient, she readied herself and crept as far as she could without using anything to help her. Then she took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the next step.

Luckily enough, as a thief she knew the one spell from the illusion school that she absolutely had to know: the muffle spell which would let her move in absolute silence. She was skilled in sneaking around but just to be on the safe side, she cast it and felt magical energy flow into her feet. Next, she called upon Nocturnal and had her Shadowcloak hide her from anyone's sight completely. And finally, for the last time she whispered her Shout.

 _"Laas Yah Nir!"_ her voice breathed and she watched attentively as the red lights indicated to her where her enemies stood. Good. Not many of them moved and none of them had moved to the path she set out for herself.

Crouching, she quickly sneaked past the first line of elves. The second line was harder as her enemies moved around and she spotted several rune spells in her way. She cussed in her thoughts, cursing all the elves to Oblivion, and danced around the runes in absolute silence. One sidestep, then a quick follow-up with the other foot, a step forward… and then there was an elf in her way and she was sure to be discovered as he walked right towards her. She held her breath. Behind her was an ice rune, before her was an enemy. He walked in a slow, reserved pace, calm, a silent song on his lips, unaware of her presence yet, but he was now inches from her and she had nowhere to escape. She broke out in a cold sweat and watched him approach.

And then he suddenly stopped as someone called for him, turned around and walk away. Aislinn exhaled silently, trembling heavily, and resisted the urge to cuddle up and rest her face in her hands. She forced herself to continue, knowing full well that she was running out of time. Taking a sip of an invisibility potion to ensure she would stay hidden from her enemy's sight, she crept up the hill, avoiding one elf after the other. Then she froze when she felt something touch her from behind.

She turned her head ever so slightly, her invisible face panic-stricken, and spotted one of the hostages kicking around inconspicuously. It was a man of sharp features, a rather sturdy Nord who, despite being held here in chains, bore himself proudly. She could not make out his face in detail and was not sure who he was, but he definitely must have noticed her and decided to shrug it off in silence for which she was grateful.

Up the hill again and onto the next stage. The elves were troublesome, shifting and moving around, and for a few times Aislinn froze when she was sure that one of her enemies was looking right at her, but then they just turned around or continued with whatever they had been doing up until then. Finally, she reached the top of the hill and spotted a strange stone behind one of the elven figures. It was calling to her and she sensed this was the right place. Space and light seemed warped around it, as if they ceased to exist entirely at the first sign of contact. It was calling to her in the dragon language, beckoning and conveying a message. Then she froze.

Of course there had to be something to ensure that only a dov would be able to enter. She would be tested here, required to prove her nature and exhibit the power of her dragon blood. And suddenly, all of her hope was lost and she exhaled in despair as she realized that the Shout she had to use would be one of sheer power, shaking the very foundations of the land. She was not permitted to enter the place unnoticed.

* * *

 _Fu. Okay, another hell of a long chapter. I hope you don't mind… :D_

 _I don't feel quite well yet so I hope my condition is not reflected in my writing. In case it is, I apologize. If you find any inconsistencies or mistakes there, please do tell me. Well, if you find inconsistencies, mistakes or things that don't quite sit well with you in all of my fanfic, please tell me. Write me about anything, nitpick on the details, be annoying. I will appreciate the critique since I really want to get better at this. I think I already improved a bit in the process of writing this whole thing, but do want to improve further and just… be really good at this. :D_

 _That said, I realized I was a little confused about using capital letters in English, especially when it comes to titles of people (such as king, jarl etc.), so I did a little research and found out that they are only capitalized when they refer to a particular person. I think I followed this rule intuitively before, but I apologize in case you noticed a mistake in that before. I will try my best to avoid making more of them, so hopefully this will improve._

 _Just one more thing about this chapter – I mentioned dawn moths there. In fact, I made them up. They look a bit like normal moths but their wings are scarlet, reflecting the color of dawn, and they usually appear around sunrise. Since it was morning when Lydia arrived at the place, I thought that dawn moths would be appropriate._

 _Moving on – I got some really nice reactions from you guys and I'm really happy that you like the story!_

 _To Someone345: Thank you very much! It pleases me a lot to have my story called a gem. I will try to keep it that way. :)_

 _capt. guest: Thank you for your praise! I'm glad you like Farkhali and it's good to find someone who appreciates the small details. Since I sometimes worry about the length of the story, this reassures me that including them is worth it. :)_

 _Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	27. Paths and Solutions

**Chapter 27: Paths and Solutions**

There was darkness around her, all except small areas lit by tiny beacons floating in the air which looked like some sort of dreadful flowers turned upside down. It was not the kind of darkness she was used to and she would definitely not call it just shadows, created by the absence of the light. This one was almost tangible and she did not like the touch of it. It attacked her senses and made voices scream inside her head, filling her heart with horror, squeezing it tight. Whenever she stepped into it, it threatened to swallow her whole, and she could feel it eating off her skin and crawling into her head. The whole place was eerie, full of an overwhelming presence which was clearly watching her every step, studying her heart and mind and measuring her worth. Just where was she, really?

Karliah stood on a circular stone platform lit by one of those beacons, turning around slowly and studying her surroundings. This land seemed empty and yet full of something. Pillars of books stood around, forlorn, looming up to where the skies should be. The ground was blanketed in myriads of scrolls and pages torn from the books, and they all screamed to her of forsaken knowledge, lost in ages, older than Nirn itself and yet younger than the still unborn infants. It seemed as though time meant nothing here, serving just for a laugh to the unseen master of this place. Realizing that she still had her weapons with her, she reached for a dagger and squeezed its hilt to calm herself down. Little did it help but she refused to give in, still looking around for an escape.

There was a strange looking bridge in front of her made of odd substance which tangled and entwined in intricate ornaments. It traversed a sea of ominous liquid which seemed to be made of the same matter as the darkness that surrounded most of the place. She put a hand in her pocket and pulled out a coin. Upon being thrown into the sea, it hissed and dissolved quickly. Karliah felt like throwing up.

She forced herself to walk and then to run as she realized that the darkness which enshrouded her upon leaving the bridge had started to eat her off slowly, singeing her body and paralyzing her mind, coercing her into retreating to the utmost corners of her subconscious which she had not known of. Insanity threatened to take over her, jumping at her from unexpected places, showing her nightmares and visions of places she had never seen before, as well as illusions of people she knew or had known, yet different, cold and alienated.

 _"You should have never fallen in love with me,"_ a voice whispered to her, sweet and yet firm, scolding, reproachful. _"I died because of you. You led me on and made all of us turn a blind eye to the Guild."_

"Gallus…" she breathed, but the voice faded as fast as it had come.

 _"Where were you those twenty-five years? How could you leave us to strive for our mere existence?!"_ another accusing voice echoed in her mind, sending a sharp stab through her heart.

 _"It seems I was mistaken about you. You are nothing. You never were worth anything, not worthy of the title of a Nightingale. If only your grandmother saw you…"_

"Enough," she snarled, her face twisting into a frightful grimace. Finally, she reached another platform, panting a shaking heavily, and she was forced to stop abruptly the moment the light of a beacon lingering aloft touched her skin. Before her was a pond of that strange dark liquid and a repulsive tentacle shot out of it suddenly and tried to snatch her. She jumped out of its reach immediately, running for it again, and the nightmares continued.

 _She stood in an ancient Nordic barrow, snow falling on the stairs before her through a vent in spirals of tiny flakes, sparkling in the sole pillar of light at the center of the vast chamber. Before her was a man wearing a dark ash-grey cape and an armor of the same color, standing with his back to her, looking before him, and then he charged forward only to have his heart pierced through by an arrow black as night. Its tip came out of his back and stared at her as a harbinger of death before his figure slid down to the cold stone floor and stilled itself for eternity. And then she ran as fast as she could, leaving him behind, tears pouring down her cheeks, burning and freezing her at once. She ran for her life, away, away from the traitor, away from the unbearable pain which threatened to tear her heart apart, away from the suffocating fear._

She ran, barely catching her breath, the darkness around freezing her heart and limbs alike, screaming in her thoughts, begging for help, her whole body trembling as it never had before, and then she halted, trying to maintain her balance so she would not fall into another of those treacherous dark ponds appearing in front of her. The liquid darkness swirled and splashed, revealing a tall horrendous creature staring at her from above with its toad-like eyes, its claw-like hands lunging at her with surprising speed.

She felt weak in her knees but forced herself to fight back, drawing a short daedric sword she carried with her. She was desperate and frightened and there was no strategy to the swinging of her two blades, just a set of furious strikes to save her bare life. The creature seemed to be laughing at her, moving around her freely, but a cut to its greenish skin made it back away slightly. It tried to strike back but Karliah's nimble body was too fast for the tall colossus and she managed to get behind its back and slash a long deep wound into its flesh. It staggered but then it turned around swiftly, as though it did not feel pain, and charged at her, swinging one of its arms towards her and sending her a hundred feet away until she hit one of the pillars of books, surprised as it was rock solid and bruised her chest and her left shoulder painfully. She stood up shakily, blinking in pain, and darted back before the darkness that now surrounded her could eat her.

 _Three bodies lay before her, motionless, lifeless. A family, the little boy playing with a wooden sword a while before while his parents had been chatting happily near a stall. A number of Imperial soldiers had massacred them just for the sole fact that the boy had been bragging about his father being a brave Stormcloak soldier. It was her fault that they had died. She had refused to help them, too scared of exposing herself and her skills. There was endless fear in her heart, as she was scared of every person walking the vastness of Nirn. She could trust no-one, talk to no-one, barely surviving each day by breadcrumbs and water. So afraid was she that the Guild might find her, that she let so many others die, and all that was left in her heart was infinite regret and hatred towards herself. It was so painful and she just wanted to die… but at the same time, she was afraid to. Yes, she was despicable, a lowly being hunted more by her own conscience than the Guild which she had proclaimed her enemies. She knew she had to face the true enemy of hers one day, but she was scared, and so she ran, away from her guilt and regret, away from the pain she had inflicted upon herself…_

And she ran and ran, the hand with the sword stretched out, and she caught the lurker before her unprepared, surprised at the straightforwardness of her charge, unable to fend her off, and it fell the moment the blade pierced through its body and sent it back to its pond of darkness. Then there was silence, only the silent sound of flipping pages interrupted it like a whisper of the wind, and she fell to her knees burying her face in her hands, her body trembling.

"Oh, gods, no," she whispered in between the sobs, "please, make it stop!"

"That said, you have already endured more than most of my victims," a voice echoed, sounding as if it was everywhere and anywhere around her. It was calm and composed, old as the world itself, and an undertone of amusement issued from it. She raised her head cautiously and looked around to see where it had come from. Just as she did, a great double-pupiled eye appeared before her, tangible darkness swirling around it and forming tentacles which stretched and contracted, touching everything they reached, searching, studying. She stared at the creature in horror, unable to move or breathe for a moment.

"You're…"

"Hermaeus Mora, Daedric Prince of knowledge and memory, also commanding the Fate, at your service," he told her calmly. "It has been a while since I was last this entertained. However, it might be even more entertaining to let the granddaughter of great Queen Barenziah live."

Karliah stiffened and her eyes narrowed, and the Daedric Prince before her chuckled cunningly.

"Oh, surprised to see old Herma-Mora read you like a book? Yes, that's right, you are all like books to me, abysmal wells of knowledge craving to be added to my collection. Now, you have come here for a purpose, have you not?"

"I haven't come here, I was dragged here," she opposed angrily.

"Oh, but they never come when they don't need anything," he warbled and his eye watched her attentively, sending a cold shiver down her spine. "Were you perhaps searching for something?"

Karliah's brows furrowed as she tried to remember what she had been doing prior to being drawn into this ominous world. She exhaled deeply as she realized she had been holding her breath, and then she spoke.

"What I was searching for is none of your concern. Will you let me out of here?"

"Ah, Nocturnal's minions are always so stubborn," he sighed almost regretfully, making her raise her head in surprise again. "Do you honestly think you can hide your allegiance from me? Your entire family have been Nocturnal's pawns for as long as I can remember, and that's… very long. Still, you have made a strange alliance with my champion, and for that I might let you off the hook just this once. I can help you with what you need, that is _if_ you tell me what it is. And, of course, I would demand something in return."

"Your champion?" Karliah asked curiously.

"Ah, inquisitive, aren't we? Knowledge is power… but sometimes it can turn into a double-edged sword. Fear the Dragonborn, little Nightingale, for she is strong. I can see the questions in your eyes… yes, she was here and walked the same path you did just a while ago. And so much more… without a single step backwards, without a trace of hesitation."

"Aislinn can't be your champion," she said and shook her head in refusal, but the creature before her just laughed.

"Why? Because she's also the champion of Nocturnal? I am not blind," he whispered and his one eye blinked as if it was trying to prove the statement. "You, however, are quite ignorant. She is my champion as well as the champion of Meridia, Sanguine, Molag Bal, Azura, Clavicus Vile… even the old fool Sheogorath claimed his share."

"And why would all of you go as far as making someone like her your champion?" she snorted doubtfully, but her own voice was betraying her, for deep inside she knew he must be telling the truth.

"You see… apart from being a Dragonborn, her soul itself is quite unique and has a certain strength to it that no other human will ever achieve. Is she aware of it? No, not yet. But I am looking forward to the moment she realizes. Am I telling you? No, that would ruin all the fun in that. But she is indeed a valuable asset to any deity out there. Ah, I believe this will bring an interesting competition."

"And what do you want from me?" Karliah snarled at him, unable to control her fear, anger and impatience. This place was driving her crazy and she could still feel the strands of Fate and Time tugging at her sanity.

"The question is, what do _you_ want from me?" he purred.

"Fine," she growled, deciding that no harm could be done by telling the persistent Daedra the truth. At least no more than what had already been done. "I only wanted to speak to Nocturnal. Gather a piece of her champion and a piece of her foe. I haven't planned on asking that of you, though."

"But your subconscious thinks otherwise," he drawled, obviously amused. "Very well. I can provide you with both of those things, but you must give me something in return."

"And what would that be?"

"What would someone like you have that I desire, really?" he questioned silently.

Karliah watched him, unsure of how to answer to that. What would she have, really? Surely he would want something powerful. Does she have anything like that? Maybe, but it does not belong to her…

"I cannot give you any of Nocturnal's secrets," she shook her head resolutely.

"Then I guess there's no way out of this situation for you," he said in a reserved tone.

"I can, however, give you something else," she offered. She hated to make bargains with the Daedra, but he would have gotten something out of her anyway. Better to take the safer route while she still can.

"A mortal offering something that would be of value to me? Oh?"

"I can give you the secret of Barenziah's success."

The atmosphere around her changed and she knew at that moment that Hermaeus Mora found her offer too tempting to refuse. As she was not the first, nor the last Nightingale there was, he could certainly corner others to make them expose their secrets, but this was something different, something that belonged to her only. Suppressing any kind of emotion from showing in her face, she only smiled in her thoughts.

"Interesting," he hummed. "The Dragonborn surely chooses the most interesting mortals as her friends. Very well, I accept your offer."

With that, two of his dark tentacles pressed to her temples and she smirked with pain and a strange feeling of emptiness that filled her head.

* * *

A number of people were assembled in Dragonsreach, sitting around the two tables surrounding the fireplace in the center of the main hall. Vignar sat on the jarl's throne, the dragon skull decorating the hall looming above him like an eternal guardian. Most of the people present were elders who remembered so many winters in Whiterun that they sometimes joked about it being comparable with the number of steps to High Hrothgar. On this day, though, nobody was joking. Serious expressions framed the faces of the Council and the few guests who had arrived representing some group of people or, in case of Jon Battle-Born, acting as the Steward's aide. And then there was Lydia, the Dragonborn's housecarl and currently the one who had the most recent information about the elven menace. She sat next to Jon, at the end of the table on Vignar's right, with her back straightened and her eyes sharp and cautious. There was Vilkas of the Companions, for Vignar who had been their representative before was now sitting at the front, leading the city in Jarl Balgruuf's absence. Belethor, speaking for the refugees in the city, was leaning to the table opposite of Jon, and Olfrid Battle-Born was seated next to him, discussing something with him silently. Danica Pure-Spring was present in the name of the city priests, and Fralia Gray-Mane stood for the merchants. Nazeem, the youngest of the regulars, represented the farmers, much to Vignar's displeasure, while Ulfberth War-Bear did the same for the craftsmen who had originally been represented by Eorlund Gray-Mane. Due to his two relatives being a part of the Council, however, he had stepped down to prevent any suspicion of the Gray-Manes trying to take over it. The few guards who stayed in the city had sent a quiet Imperial called Terentius Ax in their name while all three of their representatives, Irileth, Hrongar and Commander Caius, were gone along with the Jarl.

There was a silent murmur in the room, occasionally interrupted by the cracking sound of the fire. Then, Vignar cleared his throat and all was still.

"Today we assembled here to discuss a pressing matter," he spoke in a clear voice. "While our Jarl is away, we are facing a number of issues, including the lack of accommodation for the ones seeking refuge inside the city walls, the lack of supplies for all of us, and, of course, the ever present threat posed by the invading Thalmor. There had been a request for a new wall which would protect the farms on the east from being ravaged by the Dominion soldiers. I do understand the need of such a measure. However, we must also consider the cost. Be it a wooden wall or a stone fortification, we will need to send someone to the wilds and have them retrieve the necessary materials as well as build the actual wall, and we will need to do it quickly. This is by no means an easy task. That said, an elven army has been seen approaching us from the north-east and if we lose those farms to them, it is going to be easy for them to just sit at our gate and wait until all the city starves to death. Now that I presented the problem, I would like the involved parties to speak up. First, Belethor as the spokesman of the refugees, can you present your arguments, please?"

"With pleasure," the Breton spoke in his usual affected manner as he stood up, and a sour grimace displayed on a few of the faces in the room. Jon noticed Lydia clenching her fists in secret and a trace of amusement flashed through his face almost unnoticed as he remembered the young housecarl being almost as hot-blooded as her Thane. And, on top of that, she was equally as skilled a fighter. The two of them created a fierce duo that barely anyone dared to oppose.

"The refugees of Whiterun have been strained continually with providing us with supplies from the farm," Belethor continued. "They have been a valuable addition to our city, always eager to work and help us with whatever we need, but what have we given them in return? Every day they are sent outside of the city walls, threatened by every menace that lies there in wait, only to provide _us_ , the regular citizens and owners of the farms they work at, with food and water. They would at least deserve some protection. Moreover, as the Steward said, if we are to keep our hold of those farms, we need to fortify them."

Again, Jon had to wonder. Why Belethor, of all people? What was in it for him? He was not known to be altruistic, the welfare of other people had never been his concern. What would he gain by having a wall built? Would it somehow be good for his business?

Vilkas rose from his seat and Vignar's eyes narrowed, watching the Companion warily and raising a hand in a warning gesture. However, Vilkas had no intention of engaging in a fight, even a verbal one, and he politely turned to the Steward.

"May I speak?" he asked calmly, but Jon sensed a slight tremble in his voice.

Vignar nodded slowly and the handsome black-haired Nord turned his face back to the Council.

"What Belethor says is true, but I believe there is another side to it that he ignores," he said and his deep melodic voice felt like a soothing lullaby after Belethor's hoarse speech. "Here inside the city walls, the Companions can protect everyone. Once the people of the city spread throughout the hold to acquire the materials for the wall, we will either have to split up and weaken our forces or leave them to their fate there. Also, I do believe that the citizens of Whiterun are not given enough credit here for providing the refugees a place to stay, stitching their clothes and blankets and overall answering to their needs. And I believe the city craftsmen and builders have extended some of the houses using their own resources just so our guests would have enough room, have they not?"

"It is clearly more comfortable to stay inside the walls and do whatever comes to the mind than go and work outside under the constant threat of being attacked," Belethor returned dryly and shot Vilkas a contemptuous look. The Companion opened his mouth but Vignar was faster.

"Stop. Blaming one and pitying the other is not going to solve this issue," he told them sternly. "Lydia, please, give us your report now."

Lydia stood up and made her speech as brief as possible, presenting how she had discovered an elven army just around the corner and how their numbers could not be counted. Cautiously she avoided mentioning the stolen supplies. When she finished, all eyes were on her and a silent murmur broke out, steadily increasing in volume until Vignar raised his hand again.

"How far is the army right now?" he asked.

"Not even a day on horseback, but given that it _is_ an army, it could take them up to three days to arrive at our gate. Four days at most, if we are lucky."

"Even if we send our most skilled ones, there is no way a wall is going to arise in just four days," Ulfberth War-Bear commented with a bitter smirk. "We will barely raise a fortified palisade in such a short time."

"But our water supply comes from the farms as well. Are we going to just stand and watch the elves raid them?" Belethor objected fiercely.

"Oh, unless our Vignar has a spare supply of water, just like he receives the food from _somewhere_ ," Olfrid Battle-Born joined him and sneered in satisfaction as all the eyes turned to the Steward, now slightly pale in the face. Jon suppressed a gasp and secretly shot his father and angry glance.

"You have a secret source of supplies, Vignar?" Nazeem drawled and stuck out his chest grandly. "Where from? How come we weren't informed of this?"

Jon clenched his fists and forced himself to hypnotize the flickering flames of the fire in the center of the room, concentrating on the golden glow and letting the anger flow away. How come everyone was so ignorant that they had not even noticed him and Vignar working constantly on distributing the supplies fairly?

"Now now," Fralia Gray-Mane whispered in a soothing voice. "Let us calm down. Looking at the state of things, there surely was no time to issue an official notice, but what does it matter anyway? We do get supplies and they are distributed among everyone in the city, a considerable part of the non-perishable ones being stored in case of emergency, which you would know if you actually asked. Let us be grateful for them."

"Birds of feather," Olfrid hissed, his fingers tapping the table in silence. "Maybe if we knew their source, we could actually count on them and stop worrying about the farms. But you Gray-Manes and your secrets…"

"The supplies arrive at Jarl Balgruuf's order," Jon finally joined the conversation, taking a deep breath to calm himself down and not start yelling. The looks of all people present were on him suddenly and he felt a bead of sweat make its way down his temple. Sure, every bard wanted attention, but not this kind. Even Vignar frowned at his statement, a slight hint of disapproval showing in his face.

"But they are not directly from him, I presume, as he needs every bit of his supplies to feed his soldiers," Olfrid said quietly and Jon sensed the danger from his tone.

"No, but the people providing them are his contacts, we don't really have the power to influence them and that should be enough information for you to go along with," he replied. He was sure his behavior would not go unpunished by his father, but for now he had to prioritize the needs of the city. He sighed ever so slightly when Olfrid smirked at him.

"Stop this at once," Vignar commanded, rising from the throne he had been sitting on until then, looming over Dragonsreach like a baleful statue. "There is a threat just around the corner and we need to find a solution, not argue over petty things."

"You call an unknown source of supplies petty?" Belethor demanded. "We don't know if we can count on them, some of them could be poisoned for all I can imagine…"

"There is no reason for them to be poisoned," Vignar retorted impatiently. "Now think of a solution."

"We have to do _something_ ," Lydia sighed with a frown. "We need the water at least."

"We have three arms merchants and one general goods store," Jon mused and a few faces turned to him with raised eyebrows. "How much of raw materials and ingots do they have left?"

"I have a fair amount, but that depends on what you need them for," Ulfberth replied.

"I could make a quick survey," Fralia offered. "But why?"

"Because maybe we could just lay some pipes and use them to bring the water from the river to the city," Jon explained. "It would still require a lot of work and the risk will be there, but it's easier than building a wall around the whole area. We just have to make sure that the elves don't find out about it. Maybe even make it seem like we're actually building a wall."

"Not bad," Vilkas nodded in approval. "That would make things a lot easier, and the Companions could take care of guarding the path."

"I think that some kind of wall is still needed," Belethor insisted. "For the farmers' safety. Can't you see how they are exposed to any kind of threat there?"

"I would propose a fortified palisade that would protect them from the worst," Vignar said. "I say they retreat from there the moment it gets attacked. This is the most we can give them."

"But if we starve here…" Olfrid growled.

"We won't starve," Vignar told him resolutely. "I'll make sure we don't."

The old Battle-Born gave him a doubtful look but sat back at his seat. There was a silence and then the Steward spoke again.

"If there is nothing else to discuss, let us vote. Lydia, Jon, Belethor, since you're not members of the Council, you will not take part in this. Jon, could you please hand out the balls, please?" he turned to his aide. "Blue for the great stone wall, green for the palisade, yellow for the pipes. The ones you vote for will be placed in the white bag, the ones you put away will go to the black bag."

Jon stood up and took a basket full of small colorful balls which lay at his feet. He distributed them among the Council members, carefully selecting one blue, green and yellow for each of them, accompanied with a pair of bags. Soon, the two tables were filled with bags of black and white filled with balls. Jon collected them again, separating the white ones from the black ones. He took a strange silver bowl with a flat bottom and dumped the contents of all the white bags in it, placing it at Vignar's feet so everyone could see it. Then he counted the balls in front of everyone.

"So…" Vignar spoke at last, "it seems we have a winner. Everyone is in agreement that we should lay pipes leading to the river. Only two people voted for the stone wall and the rest is for the palisade. So plumbing and palisade it is. Vilkas," he turned to the Companion.

"Yes, sir?" Vilkas raised his head eagerly.

"I'll need to talk to you about the Companions' role in this afterwards. We will need some backup in case there is an ambush before we finish the works."

Vilkas nodded and bowed slightly to the Steward.

"Does anyone has anything else to say?" Vignar addressed all of the attendees. Silence came in reply and so he continued. "Then this meeting is closed and you are dismissed. Thank you for taking your time and participating. I will send further instructions to you shortly."

There were sounds of chairs being pulled and feet shifting on the floor, and a series of murmurs broke out at once as the people in the hall rose from their seats and started chatting with each other, some of them discussing the recent development while the others decided to avoid the topic. Jon let out an exhausted sigh and Lydia patted him on the shoulder.

"You did a great job," she commended him. He nodded in appreciation.

"I'll need to talk to you later," he said to her quietly, looking around to make sure no-one was listening. "Something doesn't sit quite well with me here, no matter how I look at it. A sudden request for a wall, an elven army at our doorstep, stolen supplies that happened to arrive ahead of the schedule, and somehow it just doesn't seem like a mere coincidence. And Belethor… _that_ Belethor coming up with something like that. There must be something he's after."

She nodded in comprehension. "I'll be at the Huntsman in two hours," she whispered. "Take your time, I'll wait. Don't come right after I do."

With that, she walked away, elegant in her formal attire of grey and gold, and her dark hair, considerably longer than when he had first met her, flew around her in graceful tresses. Suddenly he felt the urge to cuddle up in the embrace of a certain stern-looking warmaiden who, at this time, was probably at the said tavern, tending to the refugees or preparing a meal for occasional customers. He had barely had a chance to talk to Olfina ever since Jarl Balgruuf had left the city, and he missed her dearly. He hoped that this war would be over soon, so everything would just turn back to normal. For the love of Talos, he worried about her too, for he knew her passion for battle.

 _For the sake of us all,_ he thought wearily, _I hope my suspicions are misplaced._

Then he stood up and walked out of the door, mentally preparing himself to face his father's wrath.

* * *

Andariath Torelloy was looking at the rocky hill, his face full of contempt which nobody could see. He was sitting comfortably on a spur protruding from the great cliff supporting the Blue Palace of Solitude, watching the swarming elves tending to their rather ragged and powerless hostages. His eyes slid to the summit where, presumably, an invisible Dragonborn was facing her new challenge. Much to his satisfaction, he noticed that the Dragonborn had left her adoptive daughter along with the annoying red-haired thief behind and proceeded by herself. Now she found herself, of course, in a dire situation, unable to Shout if she were to save all those pitiful creatures who had been captured in Solitude just to stop her from entering that place. Oh, how soft-hearted she was, a trait that worked greatly to her disadvantage in the time of war. But he needed her to go on and so he would do what she was so afraid of.

He made his way down the cliff in a few well-calculated jumps until he landed on one of the pine trees growing right under it. He slid down carefully and tasted the mist. He loved it, for it would help him achieve what he wanted. Illusion magic was an awesome thing, a tool more powerful than any fireball, a blast of frost or a daedric weapon. And he had spent hundreds of years mastering it and thousands of years devising new spells and methods which no-one else knew of. To control people's mind was a subtle art and it required precision which could not be acquired without constant training and diligence. Certainly, no mere mortal would be able to reach his level in their miserable short life.

He studied his surroundings attentively, stopping at the smallest details including a number of rabbits hopping over a small pile of withered leaves, a thick layer of lichen blanketing the surrounding pine trees, a change of the terrain nearby as it turned from the damp dark soil rising from the marshes to the cold grey stone, until he fixed his gaze on a clump of mist which hovered over a boulder nearby. It was in the elves' area of sight, right where he wanted it to be. He took a deep breath and concentrated. The best illusion was one that was convincing even to the one who had created it, and so he watched as a figure formed out of the mist, a woman with rather short chestnut-colored hair, a little less than six feet tall with broad shoulders, wearing a daedric armor, equipped with two blades and a bow over her back, partially attached to the backpack she was carrying. He closed his eyes and tried to remember their last encounter, recall the details. A slightly bent back, but that was probably due to the immense exhaustion from the torture. A bigger nose, rather straight, skin of natural beige color almost without a fault, thin pink lips and strong jaws. And golden dragon-like eyes, sharp as the finest blade and deep as the darkest well. Those he remembered well, for it was not easy to forget them. He almost wished he could keep her as his trophy, but that would mean giving up his plans… and that was unthinkable.

Finally, his model was perfect. Of course, he could have given her a helmet, but he found her helmetless version more appealing and enjoyed creating this work of art. Now he had to remember her voice. Strong, like a dragon's, a little rough and quite deep for a woman's voice. Good. He was ready. She was ready. He sent a stream of magical energy her way and his little creation Shouted.

The Shout was loud and clear and in an instant, the mass of bodies lurking over the mound started moving, a few voices issuing orders while the others readied their weapons or tugged at the hair or the chains of their captives. A threat echoed through the air and a severed head rolled down the slope as one of the hostages had been decapitated mercilessly. He made his illusion tremble and move, seemingly trying to save the one closest to her. Of course she would never achieve that, not only because she was not real, but also because he had to prevent her from being touched. Controlling her was not an easy task and his face stiffened with sheer concentration as he tried to visualize her and her movements from different angles, tugging at the strings of the elves' subconscious to make the illusion more believable. Another victim died. And then again. He prayed for them silently.

 _May you find peace in your death. Your sacrifice will soon serve as the means to protect this world from the undeserved power,_ he told them in his thoughts.

Then he raised his head and shot a quick glance at the summit. He should soon hear the real Dragonborn Shout, desperate and broken-hearted. She already despised him, and now her hatred for him would only deepen. So many innocent people falling victim because of him… but it was necessary. Maybe one day she too would understand.

And then it came.

 _"Fus Ro Dah!"_ her voice thundered and its echo tore through the mist and shook the ground. Ah, how he desired it, the true Voice of a dov.

The elves now turned around in confusion, their eyes widening in surprise, but it was too late. The one guarding the gate had been taken care of in a mere blink of an eye and now the door was closing behind her and her enemies were too slow to react. She had disappeared into darkness, leaving behind nothing but a lingering whisper in the air. He smiled and let the illusion dissolve. Now it was time to take care of the annoying little menace in shape of a little girl accompanied by a red-haired thief.

* * *

 _Long again. This story is really getting out of hand. I actually wanted to include the fight between Andariath Torelloy and Brynjolf with Lucia in this chapter, but seeing how long it had gotten, I decided that I would rather put it in the next chapter. So you'll have to wait a bit for that._

 _Now I made a little revelation about Aislinn in the part with Hermaeus Mora, so I hope you noticed it and now you'll chew on it a little. I also exposed a little about Andariath Torelloy and about his rather controversial character, hope you like it._

 _And then the Whiterun arc… well, I kind of tried to make it a little like a crime fiction, so I have to tell you that the leads are already there and it's up to you what you make of them. You can also find some leads in the game itself, so don't forget about the roles the characters featured in this arc had there. One of them is very important. That said, I hope I did not screw up with the Council meeting. You know… I'm really not good with politics. More like I suck at them. I used to help organize conventions here in Czech and whenever there was a meeting, I was completely lost and didn't know what to do. So… there you have it. Meh._

 _By the way, did you notice the association of the term "darkness" at the beginning of this chapter with Terry Pratchett's books? ;)_

 _Again, thanks for your beautiful reviews and the favs/follows._

 _To capt. guest: Thank you and thank you! By suspicious, I basically meant that he didn't like them. Like when people say something is weird, but they don't really think why it's weird. Brynjolf didn't think of why they were suspicious either. It just crossed his mind. :)_

 _Thanks to everyone for reading this chapter. As always, your reviews, favs and follows are welcome. Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	28. The Eyes of Doom

**Chapter 28: The Eyes of Doom**

Brynjolf kept staring after the lass, _his_ lass, trying to shake off the dreadful feeling that settled in his heart and refused to give way. She wanted him to run away with the little lass and there was no point in staying at such a place, and so he gathered up his courage and turned his back to the mound and Aislinn who, at this time, was most probably already making her way up the hill through the swarming elves. Lucia was staring at him from Shadowmere's back, a questioning look in her face.

"Where did mama go?" she asked, and the deep, doubtful tone in her voice revealed her suspicion.

"She went to retrieve something," he told her evasively and let out a sigh of concern. "Hopefully she'll be back soon, but we have to at least hide someplace safe."

"But why didn't she take us with her?"

Brynjolf's eyes were filled with despair. What was he supposed to tell this little girl? He had no idea how to deal with children, much less children with strange powers who obviously understood far more than any normal child. He watched her expression, curious and maybe a little hurt, but inadvertently his gaze slid down to her waist where her hand was playing with the hilt of her dagger. For a child this young, she certainly was cautious.

"We would have gotten in her way," he said, deciding to tell her the truth. As expected, she frowned and shot him an accusing look.

"When have I ever gotten in her way? I tried so hard not to!" she exclaimed and he quickly jumped to her.

"Shhh!" he hissed at her, putting a finger over his mouth. "Don't be so loud. She didn't mean it like that. The lass would never abandon you, you know."

"But… I want to go with her…"

"She'll be fighting three dragons," he tried to explain, but suddenly felt his own stomach knot as he realized what he had just said. The lass will be fighting three dragons… for Talos's sake, three of them, and she'll be all alone without anyone there to help her. How could he let her go alone?

 _Relax,_ he ordered himself sternly and took a deep breath. _She's fought dragons before, tens, maybe hundreds of them, and she barely received help from anyone then. She'll be fine._

But he still could not convince himself, for he knew these were not any ordinary dragons.

 _Oh lass, what have you gotten yourself into…_

He turned back to Lucia but before any of them could speak another word, a thundering roar made them freeze in place. Brynjolf's face turned a pale shade of greyish green when he realized what it was. A Shout. The lass had Shouted.

Forgetting all except the strong impulse to get to her side as fast as he could, he darted towards the mound, carefully sliding from one natural obstacle to another, making boulders, trees and bushes his cover, but he stopped the moment he saw her, trembling and seemingly a little unsure, watching the elves slaughter their prisoners one by one, the shadows of the dusk in her face emphasizing her grim mood. But what in the name of Nocturnal was she trying to do? Had she lost her mind completely, doing the most reckless thing she could have thought of? Or did she have some kind of genial plan that had not occurred to him? It certainly did not look like it and he had the urge to jump out and just drag her out of there, but there was something odd about her which he could not quite put his finger on. What was it that kept her going like that? Was that really his lass?

He heard a silent rustle nearby and stared at Lucia who was copying his movements almost perfectly, sneaking quietly to his side. His eyes narrowed with worry but he had to compliment the little lass for such a great performance. There was certainly something to her that had kept her alive up until now. As if she had been trained by someone to adapt herself to any kind of situation, and by the surprised reactions of Aislinn, it had not been her. Strange things were happening for sure.

Then another Shout tore through the air, and this one was stronger, shaking the ground like an earthquake, and a shower of pine needles and raindrops covered the backs of Brynjolf and Lucia as the tree above them trembled. It was the same voice as before, but a different source, and the thief shook his head in disbelief when he realized that the lass before him was not real. Of course she wasn't. Her movements were different, her head was not tilted to her right shoulder as it often was, her hands were not slipping to the hilts of her swords in the usual manner, her fingers were too still and the look in her eyes was dull, but those traits could only be noticed by someone who knew her. Someone else must have made this image, and the consequences it had brought were so cruel that he could only think of one person capable of such an act.

"We need to get out of here," he urged and pushed Lucia back to Shadowmere, forcing her to turn away from the horrible sight of elves chopping heads and slitting throats. Her eyes were wide and she trembled, but she obeyed him absent-mindedly.

They crawled back to the black stallion as fast as they could, checking their surroundings for any kind of unwanted presence. Lucia tripped over a fallen branch she had not noticed on the way but somehow managed to fall soundlessly on her palms and got up at once without even blinking an eye. Brynjolf took her hand and supported her from her side, and finally, they managed to reach the horse. And then they both froze and so did Shadowmere, as all three of them sensed someone watching them.

Then a bolt of ice came flying in a breathtaking speed, leaving a lingering silver trace of frost behind it, and aimed for Lucia's heart. She screamed and Brynjolf pulled her to the ground as he ducked. More showered on them afterwards and the air filled with a silver veil of cold mist. Brynjolf winced and gasped when another of the deadly frost missiles almost made its way to Lucia, but she quickly recovered from the initial shock and dodged it skillfully. The thief frowned. That man was definitely aiming for the little lass, not him. And she responded, her reactions quick and precise, like a cat living in the wilds. Just what in Oblivion was going on here?

He pulled out his bow and released an arrow immediately, aiming blindly for a random spot in the air which seemed like the source of the onslaught. The angle from which the bolts were coming changed suddenly which gave him confidence to shoot again. Lucia was still dodging, now obviously thinking of how to help her guardian. Her fingers danced restlessly in the air and her brows furrowed with concentration.

* * *

 _Think, Luce,_ Lucia ordered herself in her thoughts. _You heard it just a while ago, what did mama say about magic?_

 _"Destruction magic is a tool to control elements. It doesn't have to be limited to pure destruction, but you know how people are. Basically you call an element of your choice to your aid and then direct it with your magicka. Anyway, you can control fire, frost and lightning with it. Fire is actually quite simple to use but it offers the least utility of those three. You just call upon the magical energy that is stored in you, cause a collision with the gases in the air and set them ablaze with it."_

But there was no use shooting fire in this damp environment where it would die out before it reached its target, and so she thought about the other methods, dodging the bolts as they came at her. Shadowmere was neighing fiercely nearby, trying to locate the attacker, while Brynjolf was at her side, shooting arrows blindly but almost hitting the target each time, missing only because he could not predict the enemy's movements due to the invisibility spell.

 _"When using frost, you have to use the power of your will to pull out the water from your surroundings and then take all the heat you can from it until it freezes. The advantage of using frost is that your enemies will be weakened physically."_

But mages did not really mind having their body weakened as long as they could cast spells, right?

 _"Now lightning is a real challenge but it can prove useful against everyone who tries to attack you with magic or some kind of mind control. You use both of the techniques that I already explained and combine them. Suck the water out of surfaces and heat it so it spreads a little. Then freeze it really fast and make the pieces of frost move as fast as you can and collide with each other. Lightning occurs then and you direct it at your target. The advantage is that directing lightning is much easier than directing fire or frost, so a bit of the magicka that you had to invest in actually creating it is spared there. You simply stretch out your hands and let the energy flow. It happens fast so don't be surprised when it shoots."_

Well, the theory was there, but it was all easier said than done. She did not even know how she was supposed to use the magical energy stored in her. Where was it actually? Mages do not fight with their body, they fight with the power of their soul. Somehow, it reminded her of dragons. Of her mother. Of something she had lived through, even if it only had been a dream. But wait!

 _"You have to understand the very essence of the dovah. The dragons. And the essence of your kind as well."_

Who had said that to her? The memory of the voice in her head sent a shiver down her spine and suddenly her chest tightened and she felt like crying. It had been someone she had grown accustomed to hearing, someone who had kept her company when no-one else would, a person she had reserved a special place in her heart for… and now that place was empty and she felt void.

 _"You have the means. Everyone has them."_

An icebolt hit her shin and she screamed with pain, shivering as the cold spread in her body and drained her strength. Brynjolf called to her but she could not make out the words. She took a deep breath and frowned with concentration.

A swamp nearby. Shattered remains of icebolts all around. The dampness in the air, the lichen covering the tree trunks, the deep green needles of the pines, the mist hovering over the marshes and the clouds above. How she perceived all this at once, she could not understand, as if she had been preparing for this occasion for a long, long time, but she could and she knew there was water in all of those. She searched herself, straining her mind to concentrate on the abstract aspects of her being rather than her mortal vessel, and reached for energy. Slowly but surely, water gathered around her. Shutting the tangible world out, she realized that her perception of time had changed, as if it had slowed down considerably, giving her chance to think and act. Was this how it worked? Or was she in a dream again? But how come she knew that time was not the same in dreams as it was in reality?

No, she should not stray from her task now. She had the water ready. Heat it, then freeze it and move it, as fast as you can. She did and, surprisingly, it was much easier than she had originally thought, especially now that she had discovered the source of energy in her soul. Then her vision cleared and she was back in reality, the tips of her fingers humming and vibrating with sparking energy.

Brynjolf had nocked another arrow and aimed at his target. She knew his estimations were correct and so she used him as her sighting meter, stretching out her hands and directing the mass of energy at the place his arrow was pointing at. The lightning hit on the spot and a surprised scream followed. The spell broke and a tall figure appeared out of thin air, the deep blue robes he was wearing limp and slightly ragged, and his hood slid down from his head, revealing a mildly angered face. Both she and Brynjolf gasped at the sight, unable to move or act for a split second.

Despite his hair keeping the rich color of dark gold, this man seemed old as the world itself, hungry to the extent that no dragon could rival his starvation, and so dangerous that death seemed like a stroll through a paradise compared to what would happen to his victims. With his nose like a curved hook, he reminded Lucia of some peculiar bird of prey, but the thing that struck her the most were his eyes, something not of this world, evil and ominous and probably gained through some dark practices. They seemed to absorb light, leaving only darkness, and their edges glittered with violet sparks that she believed were of magical origin.

She felt her heart sink suddenly when she realized that she could not compare to this man, not with the lack of experience she suffered. She might have figured out how to cast a lightning spell almost by herself, but that had only served to anger the already aggressive man who had set out to get rid of her for whatever reason. Then she sensed silent strings tug at her subconscious and knew that the treacherous elf had decided on a new method of attacking her. This time, dodging the attack was out of question and counterattacking nigh impossible, but she was still determined to fight back.

The world around her shifted, blurred and swirled, and she was suddenly standing on the edge of a cliff with her back to the deep dark abyss below, only the shining tips of the spikes protruding from the cold stone walls surrounding it tore through the gloom as they shimmered dimly. Her eyes turned to the slope before her as if invisible force had coerced them into it and spotted a number of large boulders which threatened to come loose any second and roll down on her. They would surely smash her to the ground and then shove her over the edge to make her meet her doom down there, and the death would be very painful. Dark orange light was flooding the scenery as though it was trying to emphasize the threat.

She waited, her heart almost beating its way out of her body, unable to move, being held in place by an unknown power. Even if this was a dream, time sure passed slowly here, perhaps too slowly. Why was it so slow, so unnatural? There was something strange about this, and she felt that uncovering it would be the key to solving this situation.

And then the boulders moved, just as slowly and unnaturally as the time inside this eerie vision of hers. Suddenly, her body felt lighter and she knew she could move. The cliff crumbled and a part of it broke off, leaving a vast field of nothingness to her right so the only way out was to her left. She needed to escape the threat, to avoid getting smashed, but the ground on her left started cracking as well. She would have to run for it. But where to?

 _"You ran away again, my child."_

The voice was soft and soothing, a vivid memory of a man who had once resided in her thoughts and spoke to her with patience transcending time and space, one who had shared her life with her, or rather who had given her a considerable part of it. He had posed challenges and given her experience, taught her an entirely new way of thinking. And what had she learnt from it?

She had learnt to stay firm and calm, to think things through, consider all the circumstances and possibilities. She had learnt not to run away.

She looked at the boulders, strangely textureless, shot a glance at the menacing orange skies, and took a deep breath. The air was cold and somehow energizing…

That was it. This world was not real, it was but an illusion meant to cast fear in her heart and bend her to that man's will, but her body and her whole being were. They did not belong here, their place was in the harsh land of Skyrim with its cold winds, snowy mountains, desolate plains and treacherous marshes. He had planted this vision in her head to make her want to run by herself, succumb to madness and march right into the deathly embrace of the elven crowd that still roamed over the mound a few hundreds of feet away. The time was slow here because while this was just a dream, her mind and body still lingered in the real world, and the two dimensions collided. But it also gave her time to think and she welcomed it.

She needed to think of a solution. A simple distraction would do, so she and Brynjolf could mount Shadowmere and escape this horrible man. But what could she do? What on the scale of her abilities could she do to stop him? If only _he_ was here to help her… of course, she should not rely on others, but she missed him so much. How on Nirn could she miss someone she did not even remember?

 _"I will miss you,"_ she had told him then. She frowned at the memory as she had clearly addressed him by a name but she could not recall it.

 _"You will not,"_ he had assured her. But she did. He must have been convinced she would forget him, that he would manage to erase the memory of him from her mind, but his presence had been too strong and so was her will to remember.

 _You liar,_ she thought to herself. _You big, fat liar._

With that, she concentrated on the falseness of the world around her, her eyes studying the unnatural orange light with no source, digging into the fake surfaces, absorbing them in their smooth simplicity. This world was not real, only she and her feelings were. The vision faded and the world was shrouded in darkness as the cloak of the night spread over it, and before her stood an elven figure, lit dimly by the faint glow of Secunda penetrating the veil of clouds aloft. It was finally time to act.

* * *

Brynjolf staggered as his vision changed. He stared at the strange sight that had opened before his eyes and snorted. So the Aldmer had decided to use illusion magic to gain the upper hand. Well now, that was the biggest mistake he could have made, for no matter how strong his magic was, Nocturnal knew that the thieves were used to dealing with illusions. If there was one kind of magic thieves were skilled at, it was illusion, and to be skilled at something also meant realizing its weakness and being able to use it to your advantage. To fight illusions was much simpler a task than it appeared to be.

Patience, discipline and absolute control over one's emotions and thoughts were the key. It was just like dealing with clients – hang on, don't let them lead you by the nose and get the better of you, and you win the deal.

He closed his eyes and waited, shutting out everything, concentrating on his own body and the sensations that seemed real. He felt the cold coming from the swamp, the dampness that threatened to crawl under his skin, the soft, slightly sticky ground under his feet. There was wind coming from the Solitude Bay which brought the salty scent of the sea with it, and also the refreshing smell of pine trees, slightly dulled by the foul odor of the marshes. There was so much to perceive, so much to feel, that no illusion created by a single individual would be able to override all that.

Brynjolf felt his senses sharpen as they adjusted to the absence of sight and to the muffled hearing, and waited. Surely the elf could not keep his vision up for long, and when he attacked, Brynjolf would be ready to react. He focused on the relatively still air around him save for the soft breeze from the sea which he took for its inseparable part. He had to be quick and react the very moment he felt a change in the air. It had to come soon. He put away his bow and readied a dagger in case close combat followed.

And the change came. A movement at his left hand disturbed the wind and sent a warm current his way and he opened his eyes at once. Turning to the source of the movement, he saw Lucia and his eyes widened in astonishment. She stood there, ablaze as warm golden flames licked her body and protected it from another volley of icebolts. She looked like a goddess, standing there in all her glory, and for a moment he could swear that the flames formed a dragon head with eyes like two rubies piercing through the dark.

He quickly forced himself to clear his thoughts, for admiring his little companion would not secure them an escape path, and took his bow again. He registered that despite the amazing display the girl was putting up, she was straining herself greatly and her face seemed more and more ragged. Shadowmere's neigh was coming from the other side and he knew the stallion was waiting for his chance.

He fired three arrows at the elf following one another in a close sequence and forced him to raise a strong ward spell. Brynjolf now had to put up an act, for he was quickly running out of arrows, and if the elf noticed, he might use it against him. But suddenly, the little lass did something unbelievable.

A beam of golden fire shot halfway between Brynjolf and his opponent until it reached a ledge looming over one of the swamps. It hit the stone and bounced off, disappearing into the night. She repeated it promptly before the first beam faded completely, and the third one hit the elf who was trying to fend off Brynjolf's fierce attack, managing to sneak behind his magical shield. Andariath Torelloy screamed in pain as flames took his eyes.

"You damned n'wah! Oblivion take you!" he exclaimed and shot a shower of icebolts and fire missiles blindly, followed by a lightning spell. They all went wide.

Brynjolf quickly put the bow over his back and jumped to Lucia's side. He caught her in midair when she fainted, gently taking her in his arms. Then he ran towards Shadowmere, stopping or speeding up occasionally when one of the angered elf's missiles threatened to pierce him, trying to overcome the difficult terrain which the damp muddy sludge surrounding the marshes certainly was. Despite being blinded, the Aldmer's aim was still quite accurate and the thief thought that he must have spent quite some time training for this kind of fight. Still, he was in pain and shaken and that gave Brynjolf the advantage. He quickly seated the unconscious girl on Shadowmere and then mounted the horse himself, spurring him to wild gallop.

They ran through the wilds, Brynjolf holding his breath and turning his head occasionally. The elf seemed to disappear as he could never keep up with Sithis's crimson-eyed steed but one could never be sure, especially when the enemy was a four thousand years old Aldmer.

"For the love of the Nine, you're just as reckless as her," the thief breathed to Lucia with a shake of his head when he finally managed to settle down. "Aren't you two related?"

But he had to silently compliment both of them, Aislinn for the idea of teaching the little lass magic, and Lucia for handling it so well at her first try. The girl was definitely a prodigy, and while Brynjolf had seen many unbelievable things in his life, nothing could compare to this child. Although the lass with her Shouts could maybe put up a fair competition.

He remembered Durnehviir and how he had explained that the blessing of Akatosh repelled everything opposed to creation. So a part of that Aldmer also fell within this category. Maybe that was why he had not dared engage in close combat.

He snorted. In just a few days, this little girl had managed to save his life twice.

She shifted in his hands and he caressed her hair gently, putting a few loose locks behind her ears. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she opened her eyes, dazed and still half asleep.

"Where is mama?" she whispered.

"Still out there fighting dragons," he told her with a frown of concern as he remembered the reason why he was now running away with the lass's daughter.

"I hope she smashes them, just like I smashed that blasted pointy ears' eyes. Now he'll have to kill a troll and glue its eyes with its fat instead," she laughed sleepily.

Brynjolf stared at her in disbelief, his mouth open wide, but he could not find the words to reply. Sheogorath's mad eyes, now it was official. This kid definitely took after the lass.

* * *

 _A few notes to add to this chapter. First, about the invisibility spell (and potions): In the game, the moment you interact with your surroundings in any way the spell breaks. I find it illogical and therefore I changed it to suit my needs, as you might have already noticed in chapters 15 (when Sinawen fights with Arethil) and 23 (when Brynjolf sneaks into the Penitus Oculatus headquarters). I don't think there's a point to being invisible if you can't do anything like that. If you played for example Baldur's Gate or any game of that sort, you know that in most games you can just stay invisible and the interactions only make you detectable (which does not equal visible). So that's how I interpret the spell and that's how I will use it in the story. Other than that, I left the magic intact but added a bit of theory to it. I hope you liked it._

 _Second: Brynjolf is a very good shooter, but I will not make him a Legolas. I couldn't help but remember the foolishly unrealistic scene from one of the Lord of the Rings movies (don't remember which one) where Legolas shoots three arrows at once, when I described how Brynjolf shot three arrows in a sequence. You know, I somehow hate this kind of exaggeration. I read LOTR a few times when I was just a kid and I remember well that Tolkien made everything as believable as possible. The characters there had their limits, all of them, and the laws of physics pretty much worked the same in Arda as they do on our Earth, which means that if Legolas shot three arrows at once, all of them would go wide and it would only slow him down. Believe me, I tried it myself. I don't exactly dislike the movies, but I don't "like" them either because I think that Peter Jackson just decided that a fantasy story doesn't have to have its limits. Well, I don't share his opinion. If it ever happens that I make someone too overpowered, let me know right away because that would really bug me._

 _Third: I know that it's Dunmeri language that Andariath Torelloy is using when cursing Lucia. I just thought it appropriate. After all, the Aldmer are considered the predecessors of most elven races, so why not relate them to the Dunmer?_

 _And last: I hope you liked how Lucia and Brynjolf each had their own way how to deal with the illusion. I put a lot of thought into that so hopefully I made it believable. Of course Lucia would have to struggle more and think it through, Brynjolf is still far more experienced than her, but given Martin's training, she should have no problem in such a situation. Ah, somehow I'm raising her as my own daughter now. I think Aislinn has a rival. :D_

 _Speaking of Aislinn, a review came today from a guest, stating that I used her name in the story. Well, I'm just assuming that she meant Aislinn, given the fact that all the other OCs except for Marcus who doesn't appear that much in the story have made-up fantasy names and that the review is for the first chapter. Still, I did think about the name Aislinn a lot, asking myself if it's all right to use an Irish name for an Imperial. I decided it's ok, especially for the Dragonborn. My reasons were that first, aside from Latin and Italian sounding names, the Imperials pretty much tend to adopt names of any origin and therefore there should be no problem with using just about any name for one of their race (well, if you read the lore, you learn that the Imperials actually include at least three races). Second, Aislinn made up her name anyway. Since she does not remember who she is, she was basically forced to think something up at Helgen, and hence her name._

 _And, you know, I couldn't give up Aislinn. I really like that name, even though I originally learned it via Heroes of Might & Magic III where Aislinn was an ugly necromancer. :D_

 _One last thing: Next week I will be busy preparing for school which starts on 21st September for me, meaning that from now on, there probably won't be that much time I can spend writing. I major in Japanese studies and in case you don't know much about this branch, it tends to get insanely difficult. This spring I finished my bachelor degree so now it's only going to get harder. I will try to write as much as I can, but in case the frequency of my updates drops, please don't get mad at me._

 _Again, thank you for supporting me, reviews, favs and follows much appreciated._

 _To Twillin: But he is your daddy. You just don't know it yet. ;)_

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	29. The Guardians

**Chapter 29: The Guardians**

Aislinn did not even try to suppress the streams of tears flowing down her cheeks. So many innocent people. Young and old, people who had helped many, some who had even helped her, people who had families, people who loved and cared. And they were dead, all because of some twisted plot of an insane Aldmer who had decided that he needed her to succeed. Yes, if it wasn't for him, she might have never found a way to stop Alduin, but that did not justify what he had just done. How could he be so cruel?

She was angry, so angry that she barely paid attention to anything around her. In fact, she was unable to, even if she tried, for there was a complete, impenetrable darkness surrounding her whole being. The place she had entered was pitch black, and in all her life she had not lived a night like this. One would have to erase the sun, the stars, the moons and everything from the skies and prevent the cities of Nirn from lighting fires at night to achieve this level of darkness, and maybe even then it would not have reached it.

The ground beneath her feet was smooth, but surprisingly, no sound came from the contact with her daedric boots, and eventually it made her restless. The place was definitely different from everything she had encountered before, seemingly defiling the laws that applied to the world she knew. Ah, but what was she thinking? Recently, everything in her life denied her understanding of common sense, so why should this place make an exception? Odahviing had told her that even the dragons she would have to challenge for the Elder Scroll Shout would be extraordinary in power and mind.

Suddenly she realized she did not even know which way she was going. There was nothing at all to support her at her sides, nothing she could lean on, and the ground was so smooth that she could not use any crevice or protrusion to guide her step. She might as well be going around in circles instead of advancing forward, left to roam this strange darkness forever until she would either go insane or starve to death. Just how in the name of Talos would she know that her steps led her in the right direction?

 _"_ _Laas Yah Nir!"_ she let a whisper come out of her mouth and it sounded suffocated, suppressed to a silent squeal which faded quickly into absolute silence. But the Shout served its purpose and she scowled when three presences appeared around her as their souls emitted light glow dyed in the color of blood. And they were big and overwhelming.

"Ah, that was sooner than I expected," a voice echoed. It was old and crisp, and it spoke of great battles, and power and eons of waiting. "Our little Dovakhiin catches on fast and spoils the fun."

"Do not worry, Riisiljun, the fun is not over yet," another voice replied, this one softer and deeper. It almost sounded soothing and Aislinn had a hard time believing it belonged to a dragon.

"Come, little Dovakhiin," the first voice beckoned. "Come and conquer us. We have been waiting for you."

The crimson lights dissolved into darkness as the effects of the Shout wore off. Aislinn was now feeling slightly annoyed at the mocking tone the dragon used, for she knew she could not limit herself to using just this one Shout if she wanted to defeat the three guardians, and the beast was aware of it. But how would she even locate them in such darkness? She was certain that they had a way of telling her position, for this was their realm and they must have spent thousands of years here. It was not fair.

"So, you want an Elder Scroll," the crisp voice said calmly as though it was simply enjoying a conversation over a cup of tea. "Come. Come and get it."

The voice was right before her. She focused on it, on the current of air flowing through the beast's vocal chords, on the hums and hisses it made, and she quickly drew her bow and shot an arrow in that direction. There was a roar of laughter and the voice spoke to her again.

"Hahaha, almost, little Dovakhiin, almost. Try harder."

Now she was just angry. The voice had come from behind her.

How could such a large beast be so quick that it avoided her attack and even managed to get behind her before the arrow even reached its original location? That was completely impossible!

"Ah, little Dovakhiin, don't get discouraged," the voice begged, pretending to be hurt and disappointed. "Come at me again."

Aislinn closed her eyes simply to help herself concentrate, making her body a tool to shut out the outer influences.

"Oooh, you shouldn't have done that," the dragon drawled and she could feel a shower of frost cover her body and crawl its way in her armor and under her skin, freezing her heart and body alike and draining the power from her. Alarmed, she quickly opened her eyes again.

 _"_ _Feim Zii Gron!"_ she Shouted and her body became weightless and ethereal, the frost pouring through her translucent flesh which made her want to vomit. She gasped and forced herself to calm down.

Why would the dragon attack her when she closed her eyes while it had not attacked before? Strange rules applied to this world and she could not figure them out. It could be an illusion, but she had been denied the only way she knew to deal with such an obstacle.

"Dovakhiin," the voice issued, alluring and inviting, "how do you plan on dealing with Alduin when you keep your eyes closed?"

Eyes closed? What did he mean by that? On the contrary, her eyes were wide open, it was so dark around her that she could not see a thing. She could not even feel a thing. She kept turning around, listening to the whispers of the three dragons. Strangely enough, she could only hear one, but she was sure there had been at least two voices talking before. She felt a tug of agitation in her heart as insecurity took over her. She did not know how to perceive this world and it made her anxious. Taking a deep breath, she reached for her inner energy and shot a fireball blindly. She gasped in shock as it flew away, surrounded by complete darkness, slowly being enveloped by it as it faded from her sight. The fire did not reveal a single thing. She was sure that it should have at least lit the ground beneath it, but everything remained shrouded in impenetrable shadow.

Slowly, she grew more and more restless, feeling exposed and vulnerable, and also unable to do anything, as if she was chained down by the darkness, confined in this dark place, vast and constricted at the same time. She shivered and her stomach knotted, her mind racing furiously in hysteria which was quite unlike her. She was powerless and wanted to escape this terrible quiet prison, regain her freedom again. Where was she, really? Had the three guardian dragons been living here for thousands of years, restricted to this dreadful place as though someone had chopped off their wings and bound them to nothingness? Then, realization sank in, slowly and frightfully, and she held her breath inadvertently.

"It seems your eyes are opening, little Dovakhiin," the dragon said slowly, savoring her fear. She knew she could not fight this beast by the usual means.

"Who are you? What did you do to me?" she asked. She barely heard her own voice in the thick darkness which stifled all the sounds, although, surprisingly, she heard the dragon's words loud and clear and she was sure that he heard her just as well.

"Oh, you are just as you were before you came here," he hummed. "But you came to face the inevitable. In the end, you cannot escape from yourself."

Despite the darkness, she blinked. The beast had said it. This was the place she had feared the most for the past few months, the place closest to her and yet most unreachable. She took a deep breath, concentrating on her surroundings, until she sensed more than just three presences. There were more of them, whispering in the shadows, and they were all a part of her.

"Are you reading my thoughts?" she asked with uncertainty in her voice.

"Ah, little Dovakhiin," the dragon snorted, "do you really think it possible to read others' thoughts? It is not necessary to do so in order to understand their souls. As for your first question, I am Riisiljun, the Watcher of Souls. I do not fight like normal dovah do. In fact, I do not fight at all, not anymore. But many have succumbed to madness upon confronting me, nevertheless."

"You don't believe in power like the other dovah do?"

"Believe in power?" he grumbled, and his voice sounded like a distant earthquake. "Do not deride me, little Dovakhiin. There is no such thing as believing in power. Power is, and power will be, and there is nothing beyond that. You cannot find your place in Mundus if you do not acknowledge power."

"But you said you do not fight…"

"Not anymore, I said. Still, one does not need to fight to manifest power," he laughed bitterly and Aislinn sensed the important part was hidden somewhere beneath that woeful tone of his.

"You cannot fight," she uttered, and for some reason, the words sounded inexplicably lonely to her.

"Oh, brilliant, little Dovakhiin, thank you for stating the obvious! You know, we dragons are pretty straightforward creatures, but we are no fools."

Perfect. He might be no fool, but this strange creature, unlike so many of his kind, definitely enjoyed making a fool out of her.

"But I was sent here to fight you and retrieve the words of a certain Shout," she sighed. "Are you not one of their guardians?"

"You were sent here?" he drawled in acid amusement. "Oh, and since when does the Dovakhiin let herself be ordered around by others? The disappointment! You are weak if you think your choices are not yours. You are even weaker if you abide by the will of others blindly without thinking what it might bring upon you!"

"I am not weak!" Aislinn bellowed, but only a biting grunt came in response.

"Then prove it, Dovakhiin," he hissed. "You are blind and deaf to yourself, your conscious can't even reach the very edge of your pitiful soul. You don't know who you are and yet you dare walk Nirn freely and call yourself one of the dov. I do not identify myself with you, _sahlo_."

There were several ways of answering to that kind of insult that crossed Aislinn's mind. Striking back with the same kind of attitude would certainly prove disadvantageous for her since she was not so well-versed in the dovahzul. Charging blindly at the beast again would definitely add oil to the fire and would most probably not be effective, considering that the place she perceived with her senses was not real, or, at least, not quite tangible. And both of these solutions suddenly did not seem too appealing to her. Looking from the dragon's perspective, he obviously wanted her to understand something. She discarded the possibility of him toying with her, that was not the dovah way. So did he want her to succeed?

Before she could decide on the proper reaction, another voice issued from the gloom, the soft and deep one she had heard talking to Riisiljun before.

"Ah, the sweet ignorance," he spoke and his words carried the fresh fragrance of wind brushing the snowy summits of mountains. "But let us not be too harsh. We dragons do not forget, but you joor see the world through different eyes. I take it that it is sometimes convenient for you to forget… but, little Dovakhiin, it is about time you woke up from your dream. I see your soul is in turmoil, but it is not going to resolve itself. You cannot even distinguish the voice of your own soul from the ones that joined it when you had slain their vessels, much less understand what they seek."

"But how do I do that?" she inquired, shifting on her feet restlessly.

"To take a step forward, you must first take a step backward," the dragon answered calmly. "There are many prophecies and signs in this world, but in the end, nothing happens when there is no true desire for it to happen. There are no coincidences, and therefore you, the Dovakhiin, are no coincidence either. Why were you born, Dovakhiin? How did you come to existence? Do you think it is just your blood that makes you a Dovakhiin?"

"If not the blood, then what?" she asked, puzzled and unsure of how to react. He was right, she did not know anything and she had been fighting this feeling ever since she had woken up in the carriage to Helgen. She felt ashamed of herself and wanted to curl into a ball somewhere in a corner where no-one would see her. But there was no such corner at this place.

 _"_ _It only matters who you are at the moment,"_ Brynjolf's words rang in her head. He had told her the exact opposite from what this dragon had… or had he?

 _"_ _Do you think it is just your blood that makes you a Dovakhiin?"_

Maybe not. Maybe they were both right. She _is_ the Dragonborn, after all. There was no past tense to it. So what made her a Dragonborn?

It was not just blood and there wasn't anything dragon-like about her body, maybe except for her eyes. Her skin was smooth and soft, her frame small and frail compared to that of a dragon. So what else was there aside from the body?

"The soul," she said, unaware of the fact she articulated it out loud, and she jerked a little when the dragon's voice notified her.

"See?" it echoed. "You have the answers, you just have to dig them up. It is the soul indeed. Although, to be honest, we have not expected your soul turning out to be the Dragonborn."

"Is there something wrong with my soul?" Aislinn asked, wondering if she should be afraid of the answer.

"You really don't remember anything, do you? Not who you were, not our last encounter, and yet, here you are, standing before us without even knowing your purpose."

"We have met before?"

"Indeed we have, and it is the reason you stand here before us again. Look into yourself, Dovakhiin, and meditate. Think upon who you really are."

She frowned. How does one meditate? How should she look into herself? The last time she had meditated, it had been for a whole different purpose, up at the Throat of the World, when Paarthurnax had still been well alive.

 _"_ _'Fade' in your tongue - mortals have greater affinity for this word than the dov. Everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains. Ponder the meaning of spirit, unslaad zii. Where mortal flesh may wither and die, the spirit endures. That is Feim, let that meaning fill you. Su'um ahrk morah. You will find that your spirit will give you more strength."_

She remembered his words as if it had been yesterday. They felt like her own now, filling her soul with the memory of the ancient dragon, but they also felt distant, as though they had never truly been there. Paarthurnax understood dragons and humans alike, having found the way to compromise and live in peace with both, while she, the Dragonborn, understood neither. Human and dragon in one, and yet…

 _"_ _Think upon who you really are."_

This was who she was. Human and dragon, one whose spirit would remain, even if her flesh withered.

She gasped when she felt the ground under her feet crumble. A soundless earthquake shook her and she staggered, trying to hold onto something, but there was nothing to grasp. She cried out when she realized how hopeless her situation was. She was falling, down into the deep of the endless nothingness, surrounded by complete darkness, and a flood of emotions swept her mind away.

There had never been anything. She had always been pursuing false goals and believing in fake ideals. She could never find certainty in this world, no solid ground under her feet, and neither could anyone else. But she would change it forever. If the world was not forthcoming, then she would bend it to her will. She would become that certainty, the solid ground that people could walk on. If no-one else was up to the task, she would. That was the path she had chosen.

Then she felt her thoughts slip away, leaving a huge empty space behind, and she lost consciousness.

* * *

A man was sitting on the low wall leading through the garden, surrounded by luxuriant greenery sprinkled with myriads of colorful flowers which blossomed face up to the bright blue skies. The air was warm and clear and the sun shone through the branches and lightened the tall walls of the neighboring buildings. Occasional flopping of the wings or bird tune singing summer melodies sounded from above, but apart from that, nothing interrupted the stillness and silence hovering over the place. The man sat with his back bent, head buried in his hands so nothing but the ruffled mop of long black hair blanketing his arms and knees down to his ebony boots with gilded buckles was visible of him, and a thin slightly curved sword was propped against his thigh. The irony of this lonely sight contrasting the beautiful vivid scenery in the background sent a painful stab in her heart as she approached him. She knew he was not crying, but he might as well be.

"What happened?" she asked him softly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He raised his head and a pair of turquoise eyes stared at her. She shivered when she looked into them so reminiscent of someone she knew.

"Martin…" he whispered hoarsely, "he… he's gone."

She gasped silently and stared at him for a good while.

"But he was the last…" she breathed.

"The rule of the Septim bloodline is over," he said, his voice broken. "At the end, he called me a friend. He called me a friend but I couldn't do anything for him. Not a single thing!"

"It's not your fault," she told him. "You did everything you could."

"I guess your… companion will not be pleased."

She laughed bitterly.

"He'll get rid of me once he has the chance," she said.

"But he has no reason to…"

"I know too much and Martin's not around anymore. I was his link to him and now he doesn't need me anymore."

"I won't let him," he told her, rising from his fairly uncomfortable seat. "He has killed enough already. I'll hide you somewhere."

"And then what? He won't stop until he finds me… and he will. Unless…" she paused, frowning, and shook her head so a few locks of long wavy white-gold hair fell over her shoulder. She watched them and it occurred to her that she had not seen this color for a long, long time.

"Unless?" he asked and gave her an expectant look.

She took a deep breath and started singing, her tune resounding clearly within the walls, a single soft voice rising above the treetops in perfect harmony with the gentle breeze and the chirping sparrows.

"When all is lost and hope has died  
when ashes from skies fall  
when kings are gone, the rivers cried  
and fear takes hearts of all

The soul then weeps and vessel aches  
in pieces it is torn  
time passes by and darkness breaks  
by the Last Dragonborn."

His eyes were wide in question, staring at her in silence. When she did not seem intent on explaining, he spoke at last.

"What is that?"

"A prophecy," she told him. "I found it among the old Akaviri texts."

" _The soul then weeps and vessel aches, in pieces it is torn,_ " he repeated slowly. "Don't tell me…"

"I think the Soul Transferrer is not just a toy," she said. "It is meant for someone who is willing to give up everything for the future of Tamriel."

He put his hands on her forearms and squeezed them until she winced in pain. She hated the look in his eyes, for there was only despair.

"You plan to become the Last Dragonborn?" he asked silently, making the question suffocate in the air as though he was afraid of the answer. And he truly was.

She nodded. "I have nothing to lose."

"You liar!" he accused her. "And I just lost Martin."

"I swear I will be the last one you lose."

"If you're wrong… if by any cruel joke of the Divines you are mistaken…"

"I'm not," she reassured him. "I've done this world too much wrong. It is time I atoned for it."

"You've… chosen your path," he whispered in resignation.

"I have," she said and hot tears paved a burning trail down her cheeks.

They stood there in silence, the summer breeze ruffled their hair, the gold entwined with the black, and the song of the sparrows kept them company.

* * *

Aislinn gasped. Her heart refused to believe what she had just seen. This had been her once upon a time, but at the same time, it had been a different person. She did not understand what had just happened, but there was one thing she had become painfully aware of. Her being the Dragonborn was not a coincidence. She had chosen the path herself. Both of the dragons had told her, but she would not understand until they had made her meditate.

"Is this what you meant by saying that there are no coincidences?" she asked, but the darkness lifted once more, and this time she was flying.

* * *

The air was cold and the wind strong, blowing against her wings in powerful gusts. She enjoyed it as it provided countless opportunities for exciting gliding and she could watch the scenery of white and silver from the sky. The snow was harsh, blanketing her huge reptile body with a thick blanket of shimmering white and covering the land below in a haze, but it was refreshing up here and she could still see the pointy summits of the highest mountains.

She swooped down in an elegant dive and reveled in the swooshing whirlwind of frost, tasting the air and scaring all the lesser wind creatures around until it was just her, the skies, and the ground approaching at breathtaking speed. Then she turned abruptly and brushed the treetops with her belly, enjoying the tickling sensation it sent through her flesh. She was the boss here and she could do anything and everything. How strange that she felt so calm and peaceful when she could roam the sky like this, that she did not feel the urge to do anything at all.

She spotted a fellow dragon, a magnificent beast of crimson and gold, and she rose to fly with him, wing meeting wing and then shifting apart again, complementing each other in a wild spiral of scales and claws. Then they Shouted and an astonishing fountain of blazing flames tore through the grey of the clouds. Life was beautiful up here with nothing binding her and restricting her freedom. A third dragon followed, elegant silver scales were sprinkled over the field of deep blue and green, and it breathed ice that glittered in the air and reflected myriads of colorful images as the fire lit it. They could make their own world with fire and ice. But then a large black dragon blocked their path, one who would destroy any world of theirs, and roared with voice so strong that the ground shook and the air under their wings gave way.

"Traitors," he bellowed in a deep threatening voice. "Defilers of the way of the dovah. I have entrusted you with an important task and given you so much in return, and you dare oppose me? You shall pay like no other dovah has. You will suffer until the end of the Time."

Then he left and others took his place, a throng of winged predators with gleaming red eyes which foretold damnation, and they mobbed at the three of them and ripped their wings, spraying the snow below with colorful scales that fell only to be covered with the red of their blood. They cried in pain, fighting valiantly, slaying one beast after another, but there was no end to them and finally, their bodies gave in and their enemies tore them apart.

Wandering souls they would become, until they would be reborn anew, but the World-Eater knew no mercy and prepared a terrible prison for them. They were dragged into nothingness, confined in a small dark place for eternity. They could see nothing, their world had been diminished into the void that was left of their souls. Only when a stranger decided to pass by, they could feed on his soul and savor a bit of the outer world before the emotions and memories faded and they were left to themselves once more.

* * *

She let out a terrified shriek. Though having the blood and soul of a dragon, Aislinn was still a human and never in her life had she imagined how painful it could be for a dragon to lose his freedom. She was trembling and panting, and once again tears were pouring down her cheeks. It was dark again, and the weight of the darkness fell upon her shoulders heavily. Was this how the dragons in her felt? And was it possible that dragons feared being controlled above all? It had to be true. This was the anxiousness she had always been feeling, the insecurity that petrified her. She was not afraid of danger, she was afraid of being chained down. Not even her fear of herself could compare to this. In the end, she was a dragon, and a dragon needed freedom.

"As you could see," a voice spoke to her, a pitch higher than the ones before and full of endless sorrow, "Paarthurnax was not the only dovah who dared defy our master. Unlike him, we paid for it dearly. But we tend to believe there is still hope for us as long as the Dovakhiin remains undefeated."

Aisinn raised her head instinctively to face the source of the voice. Her eyes could not penetrate the darkness, but mentally focused on the unseen beast before her nevertheless.

"You want to give me the Shout in exchange for freeing you?" she asked.

"We do like this kind of exchange, yes, but unfortunately, it is not possible," the dragon sighed Aislinn shivered. "However, even we have heard about the great war that plunders your land, and therefore we can make a different kind of offer. We will teach you the Shout to summon the Elder Scroll. In the world that will open upon reading the scroll, you will not only find a way to defeat Alduin, but also means to free us. Do it and we will come to your aid when you need us."

"Isn't this offer too generous?" she asked with a hint of suspicion in her tone. "And isn't it a little strange for the three guardian dragons to be so forthcoming?"

There was a laugh and she recognized Riisiljun's voice.

"Little Dovakhiin is afraid of scheming," he chuckled. "Too long have you been living among joor. Dragons do not scheme, they fight with power that dwells inside their souls. You have proven to us that there is power in your soul as well, and the fact that you are here means that Odahviing has acknowledged you as well. That is enough for us."

"I believe it is in our common interest to defeat the World-Eater," the smooth deep voice echoed. "While Alduin may have thought that by now we would have lost our sanity and killed just about anyone who would dare approach us, we keep ourselves calm through meditation and devouring the souls of the lost ones. We are far from defeated, for in his arrogance he cannot comprehend certain things that other dovah can."

"You are strong," Aislinn said in awe and bowed slightly.

"Your acknowledgement pleases me, Dovakhiin," the sad voice said.

"Now then, shall we teach the little Dovakhiin the Words?" Riisiljun offered. Hums of affirmation resonated in Aislinn's head and he continued.

"I am Riisiljun, Master of the Souls," he spoke, "and I offer you the word _Dey_. Feel it, Dovakhiin, materialize it. Meditate on it and absorb it."

 _"Dey,"_ she whispered and the word buzzed through her body, sending vibes down her spine and her limbs. She felt it as she breathed and then it sank down and settled in her soul. It was hers now, a new part of her being.

"I am Ziibothur, Master of Freedom of Spirit," the soft voice breathed then. "I offer you the word _Tiid_. Let it pass through you as it passes through everything."

The second word was lighter and greater at the same time. She had already known the word for time, but this concept was new to her. It was the concept of existence itself, the presence and absence of time, and she would use it to summon something that was beyond its grasp.

"I am Multarnin, Master of Stability," the sad voice told her, "and I offer you the word _Lein_. Feel its burden and make it sink. Let it tie you to the reality you know and then reshape it. It is within your reach."

 _"Lein,"_ she repeated. The word left her breathless and a feeling of infinite horizons which had to be overcome flooded her heart. It was indeed the world itself, with everything it had to offer and everything it lacked.

"You now know all the necessary words," Ziibothur concluded, "but despite being guarded by three of our kind, a _kel_ is still a _kel_ and you will need to find a way to read it. Do not call for it before you do, for it will only burden you."

"Thank you," Aislinn said, but her heart sank a little when she realized that she would need to look for a Moth Priest. She could only think of one place to go, and that place was very, very far.

"Just say the word when you are ready," Riisiljun invited. "We will release your soul from our prison and you will be free to go."

Aislinn nodded in silence, assured that the dragons understood. She was still shaken and overwhelmed with the load of information she had learnt here, but the sooner she would leave the better. Brynjolf and Lucia were out there waiting for her, and apart from them there was also Farkhali, jarl Balgruuf and all of Skyrim. She still had a long way ahead of her. She took a deep breath.

"I am ready," she said.

* * *

 _So… a lot of explaining in this chapter, but I somehow have a feeling it has left you with more questions than you had at the beginning. That's all right, it's how it's supposed to be. You'll know in time. But guess who our mourning friend is? Yes, you all know him! Probably… :D_

 _And finally, I got a big news for you! I got myself a beta (hm, is there a difference between a beta and a proofreader, or is it the same thing?), a cool guy whom you can find here under the nickname dart0808, so the quality of my work should increase. He already checked the chapters I have published so far and he is fast as wind! Maybe it's the power of his Geass… :o  
[Lies. All lies. -Dart]_

 _Ok, that's about it. Just one more thing. Please, review. I know I'm repeating myself, but the reviews give me motivation. It doesn't take that long to write a review, right? Definitely not a tenth of the time I spend writing a chapter. So please, please me. ;)_

 _Again, thank you for all the reviews, favs and follows._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	30. Gathering Storm

**Chapter 30: Gathering Storm**

Three soul gems lay along the perimeter of a strange diagram reminiscent of a summoning circle. At its center, there were a few strands of hair, some dust that Hermaeus Mora had claimed belonged to Aislinn, and a piece of something dark and slithery which Karliah dared not identify. Everything was lit by a circle of candles around, emphasized slightly by a fire which flickered several feet away. Karliah and Galathil kneeled silently beside the circle, each of them occupying one side so they would be facing each other.

"I hope this ritual of yours works," Karliah told her, doubt still lingering in her face.

"Well, I am not keen on talking about my life experiences in detail," Galathil replied, tilting her head a little, "but I've had enough to assure you it does. Although the Daedra are usually… not quite satisfied to be disturbed this way. You'll have a lot of explanation to do."

Karliah sighed. When Mercer Frey had betrayed the Guild and escaped with the Skeleton Key, she had already been half condemned by the Lady of Darkness, barely saving her reputation by bringing Aislinn into the circle of the Nightingales. Now she planned on tempting her daedric mistress even further, asking her to remove the very proof of her allegiance.

"Let's get this over with," she incited and her hooded friend nodded. They both placed their hands in the circle, chanting and praying.

"Lady Nocturnal, Night Mistress, the Great Commander of Luck, hear us!" Galathil spoke in a clear voice. "By the shadows you command and the darkness you rule, by the mysterious paths you crave for your followers, we hereby summon you to hear our pleas. Stand before us on this day and listen!"

At first, there was quiet. Then, the objects in the center of the circle flared in a blinding flame of the color of cold violet, suffocating the candlelight around it, and a voice resounded through the cave.

"Who dares disturb me on this hour?" it hissed.

Karliah stared into the flame, strangely drawn to it as if it was trying to suck her soul in. She was expecting a different sight, but of course there would not be such a simple way to call a Daedra into Mundus entirely. It would mean allowing it to walk on Nirn freely which was unthinkable. And now it made sense that the Daedra were not happy to be summoned this way by the will of someone else, and this was Nocturnal, the one enshrouded in mystery who preferred not to be contacted at all. She swallowed hard, trying to think of an excuse for her.

"It is I, Karliah the Nightingale," she spoke in her usual soft and quiet manner, but her own voice sounded alien to her.

"Ah, Karliah yet again," the Daedra uttered, no emotion apparent from her voice. "And you are not calling upon me from the shadows of the Nightingale Hall or the depths of the Ebonmere. Once again, you have found yourself in a dire situation, have you not?"

"Time has not been kind to our cause, My Lady," Karliah said. "I called upon you pleading for help in order to satisfy it. Once again, our existence is threatened, but this time, the menace comes from outside of our ranks. Still, if the trade is not restored and the cities opened again, we are unable to go on. Normal people do not walk with the shadows like we do."

"Karliah, you are not telling me the whole truth," Nocturnal whispered.

"There is war in our land," Karliah replied bluntly, deciding that equivocating would only anger the already upset Daedra, "and it threatens to destroy us all. Your champion is currently fighting to reclaim the land, and we are suspecting that higher powers are involved in this."

"And why would I have to concern myself with a war in the mortal world?"

"Because it is bad for business," the elf replied simply.

Nocturnal's voice chuckled and Karliah tilted her head in surprise.

"True, even I cannot deny that," she agreed. "So what is it that you seek from me?"

"I want to be able to return my eyes to their original color," Karliah replied and clenched her jaws tightly in expectation of rage directed towards her.

"Then you better well explain your reasons. That is no small request you are making."

"I plan to use deceit as my weapon, but for that, I need to look like an ordinary Dunmer. I will honor your way and spread your influence quietly from the shadows."

Silence took over the cave, even the soft crackling of the fire subsiding to the heavy aura of the Queen of Shadows. Karliah sat on her knees motionlessly, awaiting her Lady's response. She felt a tug at her heart, as if some foreign existence made its way there, and she knew that Nocturnal was testing her, judging her decision and studying her motives. Then, at last, she made herself heard again, making Karliah jerk ever so slightly.

"Very well. I will give the Face Sculptor the power to restore your eyes back to their original color. But be aware, Karliah, that should you fail, the punishment will be severe. Once you finish your quest, return to the Twilight Sepulcher and call upon me once again."

Nocturnal's voice faded then, returning the warm light of the candles and the fire nearby to the cave. Nothing but a pile of ash remained in the center of the circle. Karliah turned to Galathil who was staring at her absent-mindedly.

"So?" she inquired and Karliah raised her brows.

"Didn't you hear?" the Dunmer asked in confusion. The hooded woman laughed.

"Even though we had the necessary ingredients to call Nocturnal here, I still had to serve as a medium, as I was the one who initiated the conjuration ritual. It drew mental power from me, therefore I couldn't hear a word of what you two said."

"I see," Karliah nodded. "She allowed me to proceed."

"Then I suppose we shouldn't waste another minute," Galathil said and watched her companion expectantly, waiting for affirmative. When another nod followed, she spread a blanket they conveniently borrowed from Aislinn's backpack over a leveled part of the cave ground and invited Karliah to lie down there. The Dunmer took off her Nightingale mask hesitantly, revealing a skeletal face whose skin looked like a piece of thin cloth stretched over the distinct bones, and the only vivid part of it were the wide violet eyes which shone brightly at the hooded Bosmer. The years of hiding and struggling for mere survival were quite apparent on the Nightingale's face.

"Hold on still," Galathil told her. "This might sting a little."

Her hands hovered over Karliah's eyes and violet sparks of magic squirted out of her fingertips, first fixing the lids so they would not close. Karliah winced as she felt the skin around her whites stiffen, as though some invisible pincers held it in place.

"Careful now," Galathil warned. "Perhaps I should hold your body as well. If you do this during the surgery, I might ruin your face."

"I'm sorry," the Dunmer muttered. "Maybe that would be for the best."

Galathil moved her hands over Karliah's body carefully, binding her frame with magic to hold it in place. Then her attention returned to the violet eyes and the sparks of the arcane showered over them. The Bosmer moved her fingers as though she was weaving the shimmering threads of sparks, taking the color from the wide irises and slowly replacing it with different one. Karliah cried out in pain.

"You said it would sting!" she snapped.

"Ah, I always say that to my clients," she replied impishly. "If I said it hurts as if thrown into the Fires of Oblivion, I'd have no clients at all."

Karliah didn't have a word to say about it. In the end, this was no different from how the Thieves Guild handled the business, and it was probably what linked Galathil to it. She must have felt quite comfortable down at the Ragged Flagon where everyone treated their so called customers with this attitude. She sighed at her own ignorance and gritted her teeth to endure the awful sensation.

At last, the intervention was over and Karliah watched her reflection in a mirror handed to her by her surgeon. A pair of bright red eyes stared at her from its smooth surface, not unlike many others she had seen in the faces of the dark elves she had met during her life.

"This is unbelievable," she breathed, shaking her head in astonishment.

"I wouldn't have been able to do it were it not for Nocturnal's help," Galathil chuckled. "These things are not easily removed, you know."

Karliah's lips curled in a mild smile before she put on her Nightingale mask again.

"Oh, and I almost forgot," Galathil spoke again. "There's one more thing I should tell you before I leave."

"Go on," Karliah encouraged.

"You know the rotstones, right? Those nasty little things that turn your boss into a crippled pile of flesh and bones?"

Karliah smirked at the description but nodded nevertheless.

"Well, she told Delvin to investigate them, and he did. That Dunmer wizard, Marilis, had apparently sworn allegiance to Mehrunes Dagon and this is what he got for it. And, according to Delvin's resources, he's now dead. So the Thalmor will probably be looking for a replacement."

"So they don't have the rotstones at the moment?"

"Oh, they do, but their supply is, of course, limited. I also got some background info on the said wizard. Supposedly he was from House Redoran, having been raised in Vvardenfell. His family branch belonged to the most devoted worshippers of the Daedra, and although he had been cast away by his father, he was no exception. I believe the Dominion will be looking for someone like him to continue providing them with weapons against the Dragonborn."

"Delvin's contacts are really something," Karliah said in acknowledgement.

"Well, apparently your boss gave the Thalmor quite a hard time recently, and ever since then, information has been leaking on every front. And news travel faster than legs."

"Can't argue on that one. I'll see what I can do about it. If we can find the next champion soon enough, maybe we can prevent them from threatening Aislinn further."

"You're heading right in their middle, aren't you?" Galathil asked with concern in her voice, causing Karliah to raise her brows under her mask, as this tone was quite unusual for the Bosmer woman.

"I guess it's pretty obvious, hm?" she replied quietly. "I am. Even with two armies assembled, the result of this war is still uncertain."

"Take care of yourself," the hooded woman nodded. "The Guild will be waiting for your return."

"You take care of yourself," Karliah smiled. "And deliver this thing to the Guild," she pointed at Aislinn's backpack which lay aloof, propped up against the wall. "It won't be safe with me anymore."

"That's some responsibility you're giving me," Galathil snorted. "I'm expecting a good wage when you come back."

The Dunmer laughed at that, waving at her companion. She then exited the cave, making her way back to the camp where Legate Marcus was waiting for her. It had gotten dark and she stared at the sparkling starry sky above her head in surprise, wondering how much time must have passed since she had entered the cave and examined the contents of Aislinn's backpack. Then again, given the fact it was Hermaeus Mora who had trapped her in his realm, she should be happy he had delivered her back to her own time and not some thousand years away.

She greeted the guards at the camp with an occasional nod and finally entered Marcus's tent. He sat there, a piece of paper in his hand while the other one kept tapping the hastily constructed table in front of him restlessly. He raised his head when she entered, a weary smile forming on his lips.

"You're back," he stated.

"The preparations have been done," she informed him in a neutral tone. "I'll be going now."

"Are you sure you don't want to take a rest and wait for tomorrow?"

"The sooner I leave the better. And besides, the shadows are not my enemy. I'll be sure to put them to good use out there."

"Very well," he sighed. "Green is for charge, red is for retreat, yellow for their enforcements, blue for our allies, right?"

"Exactly," she said with a nod.

"And if nothing happens?"

"Then I have failed and the rest is up to you."

"I have trust in you," he told her hoarsely. "The Dragonborn wouldn't choose a weakling as her ally."

Karliah chuckled. "You only saw Aislinn twice or so," she argued with a smile hidden behind her mask.

"I saw the way she wields her sword. I can tell," he assured her. "I hope one day I'll get to spar with her."

"You'll lose."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that," he winked at the Dunmer. "Well, I guess this is goodbye for now. Keep your eyes open."

"And walk with the shadows," Karliah muttered to herself as she left the tent. She changed at her own to a light leather armor that she had requested from one the smiths around and adjusted herself, making it sturdy and durable while preserving its comfortability. She only took her bow and daggers with her, looking at them with a mixture of pride and sorrow as she knew that she would probably lose them soon, and a few snacks to chase away hunger on the road if, by any chance, she did not manage to catch anything. She left the camp in absolute silence, making herself seem more like a moving shadow than a real person.

She took a deep breath and looked at the paved road lined with birch and pine trees before her, leading down to the snowy realm of Eastmarch. It was time for her to do her part in this war. It was time to set out for Windhelm.

* * *

It was dark in the small chamber, except for the dimly lit desk in its center, covered by a pile of papers. A black-furred Khajiit was bent over it, ignoring the chair beside her, studying the countless charts and lists on the papers, occasionally scribbling some notes or crossing an item on a list with a perfectly straight line. An Argonian with skin turning a dark shade of cyan was leaning to the cold stone wall leisurely, watching his companion from behind. At first sight, it seemed she did not mind his presence, as though she was completely unaware of him being there, but in reality she knew about the slightest movement he dared to make.

"I really hope this plan of yours works," she told him after a while, selecting a few sheets of paper and organizing them into a neat pile. His eyes narrowed a little, but other than that, he showed no sign of surprise at the sudden sound of her voice.

"Does it really matter if it doesn't?" he asked sweetly.

"Icons are important for people in war," she replied wearily. "You wouldn't know. All you ever care about is yourself. But people need someone to look up to, and General Tullius is one of the few candidates right now."

"I don't think he's that much of a fool to stay with them until the very end," he said dryly, scratching the wall behind him with his nails. Farkhali's hairs stood on end at the sound.

"He doesn't want to stay with them at all," she snorted. "If it fails, you're a dead man."

He froze for a while, lost in thought, and then walked to Farkhali's side, putting a hand over hers.

"My dear Farkhali," he purred, tilting his head to take a look at her face, "you wouldn't hurt and old friend, would you?"

The Khajiit laughed at that, turning her black-furred head so her ice-blue eyes stared at his wrinkled lizard-like face.

"Gulum-Ei, darling," she returned in the same tone, "if you think you can use my own methods on me," and her face hardened suddenly, "then I must tell you, you're a hundred years early to do that!"

And with that, her foot darted towards his knee, hitting it with enormous force. The Argonian scowled and moaned with pain, staggering backwards until his back crashed into the wall he had been leaning to a while before.

"I'm, uh… glad you haven't changed," he uttered.

"Say what you will," she smirked at him. "You really know nothing about me."

"More like I'm the only one who really knows you," he countered, smiling mysteriously.

She gave him a derisive look, but could not suppress an inner shiver. Deep inside, she knew he was right. She had never shown this side of hers to anyone except him. Just why did this little bastard irritate her so much that she always lost patience with him?

A cacophony of rustles and noises came from outside of the room, and a pair of footsteps followed a short while after, quickly making their way to the door. It swung open in an instant, revealing a panting silver-furred Khajiit, leaning to the doorframe and barely staying on his feet as he tried to catch his breath.

"Farkhali…" he whispered breathlessly, his posture bent and his beautiful silver fur glued together with sweat.

"Kharjo!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in surprise. "What in Oblivion… ah, never mind, sit down here and calm down. Tea?"

"Later," he exhaled. "I have news for you. I came running…"

"I can see that," she pointed.

"I got a message from Eastmarch," he explained, rubbing his calves which, as Farkhali suspected, hurt excessively, having been strained by the long sprint. "They were preparing a caravan to Whiterun at the Cradlecrush Hideout. Short after it had been dispatched, it was attacked. There were no survivors."

Farkhali sighed heavily, staring into the dark grey ground beneath her feet.

"And the supplies?" she asked.

"Gone," came the reply.

"Great," she grumbled. "More good news when we have to supply an army of hungry Forsworn." She threw a bitter look at the pile of papers on the desk.

"Do you think the Hunter…" Gulum-Ei said, still holding his knee, but Farkhali shook her head.

"No, the Hunter was in Morthal just a few days ago. Unless she's able to move around as fast as I do, she wouldn't be able to make it in such a short time. And I don't think the caravan would be of any concern to her. Anyway, did they tell you what made them send the caravan this early?"

"But they didn't," Kharjo opposed, finally settling down to take a deep breath. "It was right on schedule…"

"That can't be right! That would mean it was caught before it crossed the White River."

"That it was," the silver-furred Khajiit affirmed.

"Any sign of losing control over the area?"

"None."

"So it must have been one of our own," Farkhali sighed, propping against the wall beside Gulum-Ei to gain support as she suddenly felt overwhelmed by the news.

"Is there anyone who would actually do such a thing?" Gulum-Ei questioned with a doubtful grimace. Farkhali shot him a furious glance which he returned with a shy hint of apology in his face. "I meant," he stammered hesitantly, "someone who would go this far and annihilate a caravan on their own. Don't look at me like that, I wouldn't do such a thing," he said with his hands raised in a defensive gesture. "It would be far too risky to wager my skin on."

The corners of Farkhali's mouth twitched in contempt.

"But you have a point, I too wonder what their motive could be," Kharjo mused. "What could a thief or a smuggler gain by sabotaging our plans?"

"There is only one thing that they listen to," Farkhali snorted, "and that's the clinking sound of coin."

"You think they would be so foolish to believe a Thalmor just like that? The elves are merciless, they kill a guy whom they don't need anymore no problem."

"Think," Farkhali said with a frown, more to herself than to the two men who kept her company. "There must be something we're overlooking. A traitor among us, a caravan razed to the ground… it was supposed to go to Whiterun, right? Not the Whiterun army?"

"The city of Whiterun," Kharjo confirmed.

"Wouldn't it be more logical for the Dominion to stop Balgruuf from proceeding?" Gulum-Ei asked.

"Not if their target is Whiterun. But since it couldn't have been the Dominion that set this up…"

"There must be someone else who would benefit from Whiterun being defeated," Kharjo concluded.

"And that someone has ties to the Guild."

Gulum-Ei laughed and Farkhali gave him an irked look, her brows furrowed at the insolent Argonian.

"What's so funny?" she snarled.

"Well, it's actually pretty easy," he said. "You said it all. That guy is someone who would merit from siding up with the Thalmor and having Whiterun taken over by them, someone who has ties to the Guild and also someone who is drowning in gold to be able to pay his agents. In other words, an influential figure, most likely residing right in Whiterun."

Farkhali's eyes widened.

"Gulum-Ei… you might actually be a genius," she breathed, but then her face twisted with concern. "But that means the danger is even more imminent than we had previously thought."

He gave her a wide grin, exposing his sharp pointy teeth. "So, do you think better of me now?"

"Dream on," she snorted, straightening up and making for the door.

"Hey, where are you going?" he called to her, knitting his jagged brows.

"I'm going to save Balgruuf's city," she replied, turning her head with unmatched elegance. "Take care of that," she waved her hand to the desk. He stared at her as she walked away, watching the graceful curve on her tail.

"So it's Balgruuf's city now," he muttered grumpily under his breath. "Not Whiterun, but Balgruuf's city."

"Gulum-Ei?" Farkhali's voice suddenly echoed from the corridor beneath the door.

"Yes?" he answered, jerking in surprise.

"Shut up."

And with that, she was off.

* * *

 _Shorter chapter this time, because I need a break and it just fits this way, so I hope you don't mind. Uh, I actually had to rewrite it because the first attempt was just crappy as hell. Hm, tell me if there's still something that doesn't feel quite right._

 _And I have one request for you. If there is anything that you think needs explaining in my story, please write me about it, either in the reviews or via PM. I think I should start thinking of a way to explain all those mysteries that I have presented to you but I don't want to do the same mistake as other authors do and overlook something you might deem important. I have a file where I continuously note my ideas, and there's a section where I mention what should be explained later on or at the end of the story, but it's quite possible that there are things I haven't thought about. So don't be afraid to ask. :)_

 _Also, as you might have noticed, I started writing several other fics, mostly because I just felt like putting my ideas on the paper (or, in this case, on the screen) and sharing them with others, but I still have confidence in my new stories. Still, looking at the charts, I have to wonder why comedy is such a popular genre while everything else falls behind. Nothing gains a writer as much audience as a comedy tag. Strange. Anyway, I'll probably be splitting my time among these stories a bit, but I will still update Strike as it is my main story. It helps me to work on more fics, though, I was going crazy, fully concentrating on one thing only. And I like to experiment so I try a lot of things. :)_

 _Speaking of the charts and stuff – thank you, everyone, for all the attention that you are giving to this story! It makes me so happy to read your reviews, look at how many people actually read this, and think that I do have some devoted fans. This is really the best motivation one can get, so thank you! :)_

 _Many thanks to Pietersielie, TwillinOfTheWillows, Someone345 and yet another (?) Guest for their heartwarming reviews. And I can't forget my beta, dart0808_ _[Editor's note: Ignore me, I do practically nothing]_ _, who is always ready to help me improve_ _[It's really hard to improve upon near-perfection so…][Mirwen: You know, perfection is a relative term... some even say it doesn't exist.]_ _. Thank you!_

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	31. On the Playground of Sithis

**Chapter 31: On the Playground of Sithis**

It was snowing again, and the countless flakes of silver-white frost were dancing fiercely in elegant spirals, swinging back and forth rapidly as the wind played with them. Brynjolf was watching the fluttering veil of snow covering the land in shades of murky grey from under an overhanging rock, Shadowmere standing just a few feet from him, right next to a cave entrance where Lucia was sitting, wrapped up in a blanket. It was almost impossible to see anything through the thick curtain of white, the storm raging to its fullest. The thief watched the scenery bitterly, thinking of how they were going to get from this fix. They had met a number of elves on their way from northern Hjaalmarch, and had been forced to take an unexpected turn in order to escape their eyes, which had led them where they were now, to the snowy realm of northern Pale. As the Pale was now an enemy territory, Brynjolf had no idea what he could do to leave unnoticed, especially with a huge black crimson-eyed stallion and a young girl who happened to be the Dragonborn's adoptive daughter, her face most likely known to the Altmer. So was his, as a matter of fact.

The said girl crawled to the thief, still in her blanket, a slice of freshly cooked venison wrapped in some leaves in her hand, and sat on the ground beside him, watching the raging snowstorm with the same disconcerted look as the red-haired man next to her. He looked at her, shaking his head in disapproval.

"You're going to freeze to death here," he told her sternly.

"I'll be fine," she opposed. "I take after mama and mama is tough."

"You don't even have common blood," he chuckled softly, but sat beside her nevertheless, with his legs crossed.

"Where are we going after this," she nodded towards the impenetrable curtain of swirling white and silver, "is over?"

Brynjolf sighed at the question and his eyes trailed a snowflake which winded its way into his lap, landing on his knee and melting into a tiny drop of water, murky in the grey weather, without responding. Where were they going anyway? Initially he'd had no idea where he would go, but he had thought of traveling back to Riften so he could drop Lucia off there and leave her in safety, maybe even provide her with a chance to study some magic. He was sure that the Thieves Guild had gathered a decent amount of literature on the subject, having collected all sorts of things over the hundreds of years of its existence. However, since the elves had thwarted their plans, he was unsure of what to do next. Technically, Winterhold was not too far from here, especially considering that the remaining options included only Whiterun and Riften, the latter, incidentally safer as well, being situated across all of Skyrim, but who knew what was going on in Winterhold.

He frowned at the thought a little. As far as he knew, nobody had ever mentioned Winterhold when it came to the events of this war. It was true that there were no merits in occupying the nearly deserted settlement whose only point of possible interest was the college of the arcane arts that most of the Skyrim citizens were terrified of. Maybe if the elves got a hold of the college itself, it would be another story, but even if it was the Aldmeri Dominion with its presumably unlimited resources, he was not convinced that they would manage to even get close to the place. He had heard Gallus talking about it countless times, describing the academy as an impenetrable fortress where unknown forces worked against anyone who would try to disturb its peace. Magic literally soaked through every wall and crevice there was, and perhaps this was the reason why it had withstood the Great Collapse which had brought down most of the city of Winterhold.

"If only you were still here with us, old friend," Brynjolf muttered, staring into the grey distance, and earned himself a curious look from the little girl sitting next to him.

"Ah, it's nothing," he told her with a shake of his head. "Just thinking of a friend of mine whom I lost because of my own ignorance."

"Was he a good person?" Lucia asked, tilting her head to the side. A soft blanket of snow coated her head now, and he thought she looked like a princess from a country of eternal snow. _A crown jewel of Atmora,_ he chuckled in his thoughts.

"The best you can imagine," he replied quietly. "I am proud to have been his friend."

She studied him attentively, her eyes roaming from his stiff frame to the distant look in his face, and for a moment, he thought he saw the same pain in her eyes as he felt when he remembered the way his comrade and the beloved of Karliah had died.

"So, where are we going?" she then asked again, crunching on the last bit of the meat. "Are we meeting with mama somewhere?"

"I don't know," Brynjolf said. In his thoughts, he scolded himself for not having stopped Aislinn to discuss the matter before she had gone away. Of course, this might have been a part of her plan so she wouldn't drag him with her all the time and drive him out of his comfort zone.

 _Silly lass,_ he thought to himself grumpily. _This was my choice, and besides, who isn't driven out of their comfort zone in this war?_

 _"I swear on my love to you that I will return safely,"_ she had said. He would very much like to rejoice at the memory of what she had told him, at the sweet word of _love_ that had been included in that sentence, but what would love mean in her interpretation? Would she want to keep him close to her, or rather away from pain, suffering and maybe even discomfort?

"We didn't talk about it," he informed Lucia with a helpless undertone in his voice.

"Mama doesn't like to make people do things they don't like to do," Lucia stated as though she read his thoughts and curled her lips to a subtle smile.

"She sure doesn't," he nodded. "Even though she does plenty of those herself just so she could help others avoid that necessity."

"She also gets uneasy around men," she continued with a chuckle and Brynjolf gave her a curious look.

"Does she?" he wondered, leaning now back to the cave wall to support him so he could sit more comfortably, if the word comfortable could describe sitting on the hard frozen ground in a violent blizzard which blew the cold in their faces and kept them from seeing what was right in front of them.

"Do you remember how I told you about uncle Vilkas and uncle Vorstag?"

"Of course," he scowled. How could he not remember her talking about possible rivals?

"Well, I've never seen mama talk to them openly, and she was always so shy when one of them came for a visit. She didn't want us to know, but we always did. And she never discussed anything beside her work with them. It was different when aunt Lydia came. And she visited us a lot more than all the guys mama brought with her together."

Brynjolf was watching Lucia inquisitively. This was definitely the first time he had heard of this part of the lass's personality, and it surprised him that he had never noticed a thing. But maybe that was a part of him being a man, and one interested in her no less.

"Do you know why?" he asked.

"Hm… I think she's met too many guys who just want to protect her," Lucia mused, clasping her hands together and rubbing them against each other to warm herself, "and she doesn't like to be protected. At least not the way they imagine it."

Brynjolf winced. Ah, now it all made sense. He felt a little embarrassed, considering he was exactly one of those men who cared too much for her and were terrified at the mere thought of something happening to her. Then again, maybe he had sensed the mistrust from the lass, for deep inside he had decided to overcome this helpless feeling and just follow her wherever she would go, helping her in any way he could.

"But that doesn't justify her trying to commit a suicide every now and then," he muttered under his breath. Lucia laughed at that.

"Mama is strong," she said with a smile. "She doesn't talk too much about her ways, but she always has a backdoor."

"How would you know?" the thief inquired with his brows raised.

"I'm her daughter. Of course I know!"

Brynjolf sensed that there was something else to it, but the girl did not seem willing to talk about it and he decided not to press her. In the end, she was probably right, although he wondered how much time Lucia had spent in Aislinn's company, considering the lass never stopped anywhere for more than a day before disappearing for what seemed like an eternity.

"The wind is getting yet stronger," he said with a frown as a wild gust whipped his cheeks, dying them bright red, and his eyes narrowed and misted upon the impact. "We should head inside for now."

They both rose and walked into the cave, leaving Shadowmere on watch, as the black stallion refused to enter the confined space inside. From time to time, Brynjolf secretly thanked Sithis for blessing the lass with such a companion. He felt secure with the horse, knowing that he never rested, always guarding them like an ever watchful sentinel. His senses were perfect and he never failed to register the slightest movement. Even in this storm, Brynjolf trusted him to notify them of any potential menace soon enough.

They spent most of the day in the cave, mostly resting and gathering energy for the upcoming journey. The blizzard subsided by the evening, turning into a mild snowfall, and eventually the skies had cleared, exposing the darkening sea of blue as the sun had hidden beyond the western horizon. Brynjolf thought that this would be a perfect time to set on the road again, but sudden glow of lights passing several hundred feet from the cave entrance made him reconsider. He strained his eyes to see what the source was, and recognized three figures with torches, two hooded and one of them wearing a set of light armor. He could swear they belonged to the Altmer, if not by their attire and the height of their frames, then at least by the way they carried themselves. Slender, soft step, swinging their hips rhythmically while pacing steadily with their backs straightened. Then the group stopped and the light of the torches fell on a small figure kneeling in the snow. Brynjolf couldn't help himself and crawled closer to them, curious as to who it was.

His mouth opened wide as his sharp eyes spotted a young girl, probably about ten years old, sobbing quietly with her face buried in her hands. She looked up when the elves approached her, and by the soft lines in her face and her short, slim frame he judged her to be a Breton. He froze, dreading what the merciless elves would do to this young girl. There was no-one to stop them from slaying her at the spot if they decided for it. Instinctively, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword.

"Now now, little one, what's wrong?" one of them asked with apparent concern. Brynjolf exhaled deeply. Maybe some of them had a heart, after all.

"Please, help me," the girl wailed, wiping the tears from her face before they managed to freeze there. "My dad wanted to help the Thalmor in the war but didn't return. I went to look for him but somehow I got lost and ended up here… and I don't know how to get back home. I'm so tired and hungry… please, help me!"

"Your dad wanted to help us?" the Altmer asked, a trace of doubt crept in his voice. "Who is your dad?"

"Brendur, from Dawnstar," she replied between the sobs. "Will you take me there?"

There was a short silence while the elves exchanged looks, clearly hesitant about how they should respond to her.

"Never heard of any Brendur," a female voice uttered and one of the figures shifted on the heels. "Has any of you read the lists from Elenwen?"

Her two companions shook their heads.

"I'm not from _that_ department," one of them said.

"He is a miner, at the Iron-Breaker mine," she sniffed pitifully. "Please…"

She stretched her arms, trembling and obviously looking for support. Brynjolf frowned at the scene, unsure if he should trust his own senses. The whole situation seemed ridiculously unreal to him, and yet he couldn't bring himself to simply deny that there was a small girl in front of him, asking a group of Thalmor for help, and coincidentally she was a daughter of someone who had decided to join the Thalmor. Maybe she was just trying to get on their good side to make them help her? If so, then he felt sorry for her, knowing that the elves would kill her _and_ her father the moment they learned that she had deceived them.

One of the elves leaned down to her, stretching his arms to help her stand. She rose shakily, propping herself against his body and hugging it tightly. The elf patted her head hesitantly and some of the tension left her body. Then she stood on her tiptoes and everything that followed happened so fast it left Brynjolf gasping and breathing heavily in shock.

The girl's arms curled around his scruff and she raised her chin, reaching for his neck with her mouth. In the next moment, most of her face was hidden from Brynjolf's sight behind the elf's nape, but his body slid down in an instant, revealing a bloodthirsty expression emphasized by a series of dark red stains sprinkled over her lips and cheeks. A carmine trickle came down from her mouth, contrasting her ashen skin. The two remaining elves shrieked in horror and drew their weapons.

The girl was faster. She repeated the process in a blinding speed, aiming for the woman before she could react. Her second victim dropped down motionlessly, leaving only one to face the hungry vampire. The girl laughed maniacally, exposing a set of sharp, canine teeth which clearly dominated the rest of her oral cavity. She pulled two daggers out of her shoes, dancing like a hoofer around the terrified Altmer. Brynjolf, now gritting his teeth, could not decide whom he should support. There really wasn't much to choose from between a Thalmor and a mad vampire.

The elf, holding a mace in his right hand while trying to protect himself with a shield in his left, put up a good fight. He made the girl jump backwards several times, using the range provided by his weapon, but he couldn't crush the girl unless he let her closer to himself, and the moment he would, one of her swirling daggers would find his flesh for sure. His shield was rather small, made to protect him from larger and more distinct weapons, and his armor did not allow him the speed that the girl clad in simple linen clothing demonstrated.

In the end, she had worn him out, exhausted the poor man by constantly making him back away, until he could raise his shield no more and his own legs failed him. She then hopped around him briskly, stabbing him in his back. Knocking his mace and shield out of his hand, she kicked him to the ground, her sharp teeth penetrated his skin and her lips closed around the wound, sucking the hot blood while the elf screamed in pain. Brynjolf wanted to avert his eyes from the horrendous sight, but found himself unable to do so, drawn to this display of sheer perversion.

At last, the girl finally ceased her feast, rubbing the blood from her lips with her sleeve. She looked up and sighed with content, smiling to herself. Then Brynjolf's heart skipped a beat as he realized she was looking right at where he was crouching.

He held his breath, his mind screaming at him to run, but the girl simply shrugged and walked away with a song on her lips. He exhaled deeply, realizing he was shaking heavily. He rose slowly, feeling as if a pair of weighty metal spheres were attached to his feet, dragging him down as he walked back to the cave. Never in his life had he seen anything like that and he would be happy if he did not have to again. Luckily, even during that time when he had been chasing Mercer Frey along with Karliah and Aislinn, the Falmer had already performed all the atrocities on their victims and the three of them had not been forced to look at the process. Now he was just glad that the poor Lucia had not had to watch the frightful scene.

He made his way back to the cave, deciding to leave as soon as possible. If the girl lived in this area, there was a high chance of meeting her again, and he would not want to face his lass when her daughter had told her a story about meeting a bloodthirsty vampire.

* * *

They had been traveling most of the night and were now very close to Dawnstar. Brynjolf had decided to wager on Winterhold, as he doubted that the Thalmor had taken control over the college. He was familiar with the area below the college itself, as there were quite a few secret passages that Gallus had discovered and showed to him, and there was very little possibility that the elves had found them. The huge rock beneath the city of Winterhold was interlaced with caverns and tunnels, some of them very difficult to locate even if one was aware that they existed, and Brynjolf knew of a few hidden behind secret doors which he intended to use if the situation called for it. After all, even if all Skyrim fell under the Dominion menace, he could probably live there comfortably for the rest of his days, catching fish and picking Nirnroots for his meals.

He was now mounted on the back of the huge black stallion, his left hand gripping the reins tightly while the right held onto Lucia who sat before him. She was awake but kept quiet most of the time, watching the passing land around them, shrouded in darkness. Brynjolf couldn't help but look at the sky from time to time so he could admire the glittering performance of countless stars which shone through the colorful aurora, accompanying a pair of huge spheres sprinkled with craters as though infinite curly ornaments were carved into them. Regardless of the situation he found himself in, he could never get tired of Skyrim skies. In the end, he was a Nord and Skyrim was his home, and even the unpredictable weather and the harsh land had their own savage beauty to them that only a true Nord could appreciate. For a moment he wondered how the lass, being the Imperial she was, felt about life in Skyrim, but so far he had not heard a single complaint on the subject from her. Somehow it seemed that she just didn't care.

The capital of the Pale lay just an hour's walk from where they were now and Brynjolf scanned the land for potential danger. A deserted campsite lay nearby, its ragged tents now blanketed in a thick layer of snow. He spotted a snow fox walking around it, sniffing for potential feast, but the poor animal found nothing except several empty barrels. The thief could imagine that even Skyrim animals suffered under the Thalmor rule, as the caravans and bandit groups used to always leave something behind.

Aside from the campsite, nothing interrupted the raw landscape, a quiet valley ascending into rather gentle slopes on both sides while a view to the Sea of Ghosts opened between them on the north. Shadowmere continued to the summit on the east in a steady pace, zigzagging between the frost-covered boulders without a trace of hesitation. And then the city of Dawnstar appeared before them, the lights of the torches carried by the patrolling guards reflected in the still water of the Dawnstar bay. Surprisingly, it seemed to Brynjolf that most of the guards were men, not elves, supervised by only a handful of tall figures in robes or gilded armors. Lucia rose in her seat, pressing her calves against Shadowmere's sides to support herself, and fixed her curious gaze on the city.

"The air feels nicer here," she stated. Brynjolf raised his brows, wondering what she meant by that.

"We'll need go round, though," he said, the quiet tone of his voice underlining its hoarseness. "The Thalmor are still the Thalmor, we don't want to risk getting caught."

"Say, uncle Brynjolf," she asked suddenly, "did something happen?"

"Why are you asking?"

"You look scared. Are we running from something?"

Brynjolf sighed. The Dragonborn's little daughter was getting scarier every moment, and she had this strange talent to see beyond people's facades, as though they were simply transparent. Then again, if someone wanted to live with Aislinn, they would have to develop this kind of skill sooner or later. He scowled in resignation.

"We are _always_ running from something," he responded with a sour grimace. "I saw a vampire a while ago and I don't think I want to deal with that kind of menace."

The girl didn't answer, but the thief had the feeling that she smiled at his reply. He frowned, tugging at Shadowmere's reins to guide him right, away from the sea. The path they were taking seemed vacated, concealed in shadows. He remembered Farkhali and a clump of envy settled in his heart for a brief moment when he thought of how the sneaky Khajiit could use the shadows to her advantage. She never talked of her skills openly, so no-one in the Guild had any concrete idea about their extent, but he suspected there was something more to it than simply being able to hide well. But, truth be told, sometimes he would welcome to possess skills like hers, and now was one of such moments.

They strode down the slope, circled the city cautiously, studying their surroundings attentively for any sign of life, and then continued towards the rocky shore, proceeding along the mildly splashing floe-covered water. A path to the bleak Winterhold plains opened before them, lined by a few scattered pine trees. Then, passing a solitary grove, Shadowmere suddenly froze in place and Brynjolf held his breath.

"Someone's over there," he whispered almost soundlessly and waved to the group of tree trunks. "Oblivion take it, how come we didn't notice them sooner?"

He was afraid of making a single move, straining his ears to estimate the number of people present and what they were doing. Unfortunately, they appeared to be fairly skilled in hiding their presence. The thief looked around cautiously, weighing his situation and possibilities, trying to detect any and every presence possible, and finally he chose to take a risky move to gain more information.

"Wait here. Don't you dare make a sound," he breathed. Then he raised his hands and cast a muffle spell, choking the sounds of his feet as he dismounted the black stallion and crept closer to the grove. His brows furrowed with concentration as he tried to focus both on the group of people before him and the little girl he had left behind. Then he heard silent voices, like mere rustle of the breeze.

"…someone else must have been there," one of them whispered, presumable a male but Brynjolf couldn't be certain. "I studied the place thoroughly but some things just don't match. The corpses of Marilis and Renadil were up there in the tower and I found Timreth down in the foyer, also dead. All three guardian Squires down in the lab, along with one other Altmer whom I later identified as certain Sinawen. She was pretty much nobody to Elenwen and the Thalmor, but somehow she managed to set this whole thing up so I don't think nobody applies there.

"Elenwen tries to cover up as much as possible, setting up some propaganda to motivate the exhausted elves who have been running back and forth without much success, or even without actually encountering any kind of diversion at all, but rumor has it that an Altmer woman accompanied the red-hair who came to save the Dragonborn. She was probably a traitor to the Thalmor, but I can't imagine her working alone. She wouldn't have managed to do this while summoning most of the Citadel occupants to the meeting."

"Who killed Marilis?" someone else asked, a woman this time, and the thief could sense that the voice belonged to a refined lady, polishing every syllable to pure perfection with beautiful articulation. Even whispering like this, her speech sounded very cultivated. "I am positive that Ren and Tim were fighting him, but I cannot imagine those two winning over the champion of Mehrunes Dagon."

"A good question. I don't know. The guy had been Shouted to the wall, some of his bones were in pieces, but I went through the place several times and nothing indicates that the Dragonborn even set her foot in the corridor leading to that tower. She had no reason to, there were traces of her daughter down in the lab, so they must have met there. _And_ he had been killed by an ice bolt. The Dragonborn doesn't use magic and neither does her companion."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Believe me, if they could, I would have noticed back in Markarth. They were practically unarmed there, but mostly relied on daggers, Shouts and good reflexes."

"Should we assume that there is someone who can use the Thu'um as well then? Even if it's an ally of the Dragonborn's, this is quite disturbing."

"I don't know, but we need to be careful."

"We always need to be careful," the refined voice said, and an undertone of urgency made itself apparent in her whisper. "I think you may go now. I have to meet someone else here and I have a reason to believe that this someone would like a bit of privacy."

"I will excuse myself then," the man said politely and Brynjolf heard a pair of silent footsteps, treading lightly in the snow until they faded out in the night.

There was a silence then, and the red-haired thief did not dare move an inch in fear that he would draw unwanted attention to himself. The air was still, only the silent murmurs from the sea disturbed the peace occasionally, dulling senses as they muffled the sounds of the ambient creatures. After what seemed like half an hour, another pair of footsteps made their way to the grove, and Brynjolf assumed a slight figure in a dress or a robe, probably female by the tempo of the step and the way she carried herself. She stopped by the first pine tree and her silhouette leaned to it leisurely.

"I believe you were the one who performed the Black Sacrament," she breathed and Brynjolf froze. The words "Black Sacrament" as they were would be enough to make his heart stop, but before he could even process what he had just heard, his mind went blank at the recognition of the voice. Although it was barely audible, he identified the childish soprano of the vampire he had seen this very night, the one who had made him leave his resting place in a rush, uneasy and concerned.

"That I was, although I didn't expect an underage girl to show up" the other one uttered dryly. "And you took your sweet time."

"I apologize," the little girl breathed with a bow and it sounded surprisingly sincere. "Our Listener is currently… unavailable, and therefore it takes us some time to respond to the calls. But I am here at last, at your service."

"Good. I want you to go and kill a certain man here in Dawnstar, but I also need you to take some things from his house and hide them well. Throw them into the sea or whatever, just make sure nobody finds them. Especially the Thalmor must never come into contact with them. I'll pay you extra for this. Can you do that?"

"Of course, my lady. What is the name of this man?"

"Silus Vesuius, an Imperial. Mage, red robes and he is rumored to be a member of the Mythic Dawn. And I need you to take the shattered pieces of the dagger he has in one of his showcases and get rid of them. Ideally make them disappear from this world completely."

A clinking sound of coin rang through the air, reminding Brynjolf of his own occupation and the good old times when all he needed to do was to get a client, rob someone they loathed and then collect the gold.

"Consider it done, milady," the child said gleefully. "Although, next time you might want to choose a place where no-one would listen to our conversation."

There was a sudden movement, the crunching of the snow under the feet, a humming sound of a spell being cast, and then red light shone through Brynjolf, exposing him to anyone and everyone present, just as it exposed the young girl sitting on the huge black horse a few hundred feet away. His heart sank as he stared into a face of an Altmer woman, looking at him furiously, her sharp features underlined in the moonlight as the shadows darkened the slight hollows of her slender face.

 _And here I'm getting mad at the lass for always getting into trouble,_ he thought to himself bitterly.

* * *

 _Cliffhanger, yay! Although I'm positive that you know how this one's going to continue. :D_

 _I apologize for the late update (although I must say I'm doing a pretty good job compared to most of the authors here… especially the authors of my favorite stories *cry*). The past two weeks have been terrible for me, I've been drowning in schoolwork, I've had some health issues (probably thanks to overworking myself) and also some personal stuff to worry about… fun times, really. I want to thank Dart a lot, since he not only beta-read my chapter, but also supported me sincerely. There are some other people I'm infinitely grateful to, but since you don't know them, let's just stick with the "I'm happy to have such great friends" version. I also found out that my new schoolmates are amazing so that's a good thing to add to the list. :)_

 _Pietersielie: You're making me blush! Thank you for your amazing review!_

 _Twillin: Yep, Farkhali FTW. She has a way of getting out of control (of my keyboard, I mean) and just doing as she pleases. I wonder what she's going to do next, really. She's sort of writing her own story. :D_

 _No more boring monologues from me. Thank you, everyone, for your support, I'm really grateful!_

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	32. The Knowledgeable Squire

**Chapter 32: The Knowledgeable Squire**

Brynjolf stared into the woman's face disconcertedly, holding his breath, his mind racing furiously as he desperately tried to find a solution. There was just one woman and one assassin. Maybe he could take them on… but then again, the assassin, as he had come to know, was a vampire, and a very dangerous one despite her appearance. She was smiling at him merrily, and then her eyes turned to the horse standing some distance behind him.

"Shadowmere!" she exclaimed elatedly. "It's so good to see you again!"

 _So she really is one of the Dark Brotherhood,_ a thought crossed the thief's mind. _Maybe we could talk this out._ His heart, though, did not feel in the slightest at ease.

The Altmer woman shot her a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, raising a brow, but then her gaze focused on the man before her and her body loosened up ever so slightly.

"The companions of the Dragonborn?" she asked in surprise. "What are you doing here? And where in Oblivion _is_ the Dragonborn?" Brynjolf frowned. In addition to being able to conceal her presence quite well, the elf was not in the least bothered by the fact that it was pitch dark. She recognized him very easily, and that was something to contemplate on.

"I'd like to ask the same thing," the girl seconded, still grinning, although her voice was cold, not sharing much of the thrill. Brynjolf suppressed the need to slap himself in the face for not noticing her pretense before.

"That is none of your concern," he replied coolly, his hand fumbling about his waist for the hilt of his sword, but the elf was faster. Before he could notice, an elegant dagger, made in the same ice-like material that Aislinn had used to make his armor the other day, appeared in her hand and pressed to his neck. Brynjolf blinked, condemning all illusionists to Oblivion. There was no way she could have done that without magic involved. At least not one he knew of.

"Well," she chuckled humorlessly, "believe me it is. You have very little options now… I'd say about as many as I do, and that makes it two if I'm not mistaken. Either I can get rid of you right here, or we can help each other, which, of course, would require some mutual trust."

"You know," Brynjolf said with a silent snort, "mutual trust is best achieved without a dagger against one's neck…"

 _But still,_ he added in his thoughts, _they would usually try to capture me and beat the information about the lass out of me…_ if _they didn't already have her._ He shuddered at that, hoping that nothing had happened while he had not been by her side. He could not help but worry about her constantly.

"True," she returned, "so could you, please, take that hand off the dagger by your waist?"

The thief sighed but let his hand slide to his side. Immediately, the cold touch of the stalhrim blade left his skin and he took a deep breath. Shadowmere appeared by his side as he responded to the beckoning of the small vampire. Lucia kept silent, as she usually did when something was happening, watching the undead girl with her head tilted to the side. The red-haired man could not help but wonder why she was so calm about everything, not even looking wary of their new company. She was observant and usually knew when something was wrong.

"First things first," the Altmer spoke then as she turned to the vampire girl. "Do you know these people?"

"No, but you looked like you did," the girl replied. "I only know the horse. He… let's say he's affiliated with the Brotherhood. And he is the rightful companion to our Listener."

"You seem to hold him in high regard," the elf commented.

"Of course I do! Shadowmere is like the harbinger of Sithis. He has been with us since time immemorial."

"You're Babette, right?" Lucia's melodic voice rang in the air suddenly. Brynjolf jerked his head and turned to her in surprise. "Mama told me about you."

"She did?" the vampire asked, now sounding genuinely pleased. "Awesome!"

"So when you mentioned the Listener…" the elven woman cut in again, addressing Babette.

"That would be the Dragonborn indeed," the girl stated as though it was a given. The woman sighed.

"I guess I should not be surprised," she said slowly, "that the Dragonborn has friends in such places as well. But that still leaves me with the question of where she is at the moment." With that, she turned back to Brynjolf, making him feel her intense look on him. Shivers ran down his spine and he tried his best not to show it.

"I still don't know why I should tell you," he muttered. "I have no reason to trust you."

"That is true," the elf admitted. "It might be better to look for a safer place to hold a discussion over that, however. It seems I have underestimated—"

She fell silent at once, freezing in place. In an instant, Brynjolf knew why. Several pairs of footsteps were approaching them at a steady pace, some of them indicating heavy boots treading through the drifts with deep thuds, while others sounded more like soft leather shoes crunching gently in the snow. Silent sound of fabric brushing the white blanket of frost accompanied them to notify the group that someone in robes was present as well. Then, a group of three elves appeared in their sight.

"Master Talwen," one of them said quietly. "We have been looking for you…" His voice trailed off as he spotted the strange group of people accompanying the elven woman.

 _Talwen!_ Brynjolf thought in terror and his mind began racing once more. _Is she the Reinya Talwen that Sinawen had mentioned before? If so, then that means she's a Squire, and if she really is one..._ the rest of the sentence he did not dare spell out, even in his thoughts.

"You know very well that I am busy," the woman whispered with an undertone of threat in her voice. "What makes you disrupt my business?"

"These people…" the elf stammered, "they fit the description of…"

"Of course they do!" she retorted impatiently. "They are the newest creation of mine. Don't you think I am getting pretty good at illusion magic?"

Brynjolf fought the urge to open his mouth wide in shock. What was going on here?

"But there's no Dragonborn…"

"I don't need the image of the Dragonborn to deceive her, fool. In fact, that would be quite counterproductive."

"I… I see, but… you've never seen them…"

"And that's why _I_ am here," the little vampire interrupted suddenly and Brynjolf suppressed the need to turn his head after her. "I know them quite well." She gave an innocent smile, though it was barely discernible in the darkness of the night. The thief was convinced that the elves could see it clearly, and his second thought was that she was a better liar than most of his guild, himself included, for he always relied on those half-truths that were convincing thanks to the fact that there was a very thin line between them and reality.

"So now that we are clear on what I've been doing here, I would appreciate some privacy," the supposed Squire uttered curtly and gave a hard look to the elves. Brynjolf could literally feel her gaze, albeit not directed at him.

"You are needed at Dawnstar, Master Talwen," the elf objected hesitantly. "Lady Elenwen sent an inspector…"

The woman sighed and Brynjolf caught a hint of uneasiness that she tried to conceal. "I will head there shortly," she cut him off. "Just give me a little time. And begone, I cannot concentrate on my work with so much distraction."

The elves bowed to her slightly before backing off and turning back to the hold capital blanketed in snow. There was a silence and then the elven woman repeated the spell she had demonstrated earlier. Once again, red light shone through Brynjolf and Lucia, sparing Shadowmere and the little girl. Apparently, there was no other living being around. The thief watched the woman curiously, wondering what was about to come. Something in her behavior made him ease up, exhaling as he tried to shake off the initial shock.

"I suppose we have to make our discussion as short as possible," she whispered. "My life is on the line here, but if I die, there might be others to continue my work. No, there definitely will be. I must say that Lady Elenwen's paranoia is not baseless."

"What's going on here?" Brynjolf asked with a perplexed expression. "Who are you anyway? I was told that Reinya Talwen was a Squire…"

"Then you were well informed. Yes, I am indeed a Squire, ironically, one of Elenwen's most trusted. Yet."

"And you are betraying her?"

"Betraying? No, she is betraying us. Renadil and Timreth, those two poor souls knew it from the very beginning and stayed true to the real Altmer cause. What kind of higher race are we if we give the example of mindlessly controlling people and killing the innocent?"

"Who are Renadil and Timreth?" Brynjolf remembered that they had been mentioned in the conversation he had overheard, but the dots of this puzzle did not connect yet.

"Two brave ones who gave their lives for this girl," she nodded to Lucia, "I believe."

There was a pause as he tried to process the new information. Some things, however, remained unclear.

"Gave their lives?"

"Yes, shortly before you arrived to free the Dragonborn."

"Then we must have met one of them. She told us the way…"

"That would be Timreth. She was a dedicated one, joining the occupation force while knowing she would lose her life there sooner or later."

"I still don't understand your standpoint in this…"

"This will take a while," Reinya Talwen said with a sigh. "There is a ruin nearby, which all the elves are scared to get close to. There is no reason, of course, because the Dragonborn cleared it some time ago, but even we get superstitious. It serves to my advantage, though. You will find it southwest of here, so just go ahead and wait for me there. I have to go and take care of this inspector business before suspicions arise."

"Then I will join you if I may," Babette added eagerly. "I have a job in Dawnstar but it would certainly seem odd to arrive with Master Talwen here."

Brynjolf was not sure if the sudden company pleased him or not. The demonstration the slight girl had given previously was still vivid in his mind and the thought of having someone like her by his side certainly did not appeal to him, but she had claimed to be Aislinn's friend and Shadowmere did not appear to mind her, which had to mean something. Furthermore, even Lucia seemed fond of her. He decided to wait for the outcome of this situation, refraining from commenting on any of it. He replied with a simple nod. She smiled and took Shadowmere's reins in her hands, leading the way while the elven woman took a different route directly to Dawnstar.

"It's just around the corner," she said, her pointy teeth shining in the moonlight. "I'm Babette, by the way, even though my name was already said. So who are you?"

"Brynjolf," the thief muttered tersely as he took a few steps forward. His foot sank deep in the snow and he frowned.

" _That_ Brynjolf?" she wondered. "Of the Thieves Guild? Of course, I should have known! Red hair, turquoise eyes… the Listener mentioned you quite a lot."

"She did?"

"Oh, don't play innocent now," Babette laughed. "She might not have realized, but _we_ all know you've been making passes on her. Better take good care of her or you're going to answer to whole Brotherhood."

"Oh I'm sure she realized," he commented dryly. Somewhere deep inside, he felt like sulking as he remembered her promise to him. The one day that she would belong to him would have to be postponed to some unknown date since he did not even know where she currently was. He almost jumped in the air when Babette addressed him as though she was reading his thoughts.

"So where is she now?" she asked.

"I don't know," Brynjolf shook his head.

"How can you not know?!" she questioned reproachfully. "Weren't you with her the whole time? Did something happen already?"

"Mama is safe," Lucia cut in. "I can feel it."

"Really?" Babette drawled with a raised brow. "And you must be one of her daughters, right? Runa or Lucia?"

"Lucia," the girl answered with curled lips. "Nice to meet you."

"So how can you _feel it_?"

"I don't know," Lucia said helplessly. "Ever since uncle Brynjolf saved me and mama from that place, I could feel the dragons around… and mama too. I could sense their feelings and some of their thoughts… although it's different with mama. I can only sense her presence, but not anything else."

"Maybe it's because she's still human," Brynjolf mused, wondering how many surprises the little lass had in her sleeve yet, "but it sure must be nice to know."

Lucia did not seem to share the thief's optimism but kept silent.

"Well, there is something… weird about you," Babette snorted. "I don't really like the feel of it though."

"It seems our lil' lass repels the undead," Brynjolf uttered with a slight undertone of sarcasm, curious about the vampire's reaction. "Though that dragon said he could not even get close to her, while you obviously can."

"Strange," the undead girl replied with a shrug, choosing a neutral tone. The red-haired Nord had a feeling that she was enjoying his disappointment at that. He wondered whether she had noticed him before so she did not have a reason to be surprised that he knew what she was, but decided against asking. Instead, the four of them, Shadowmere included, continued in silence, quietly treading through the soft, crunching snow. Not too long after, upon climbing a gentle slope and taking a few turns between the rocks and trees with branches covered in shimmering frost, a massive stone tower appeared before them, its dark silhouette reminiscent of some giant limbless creature. Even in the dark, Brynjolf could see that its walls were crumbling apart, some of the stones missing from their places, but its core structure remained firm and stable. While Shadowmere remained outside and kept watch, the rest of them entered and settled on a wooden bench, watching the still cold walls that surrounded them with uneasiness.

A dim light had dawned outside when a rather slight figure appeared at the threshold, holding a torch. By her posture, Brynjolf recognized Reinya Talwen. He could now take a good look at her, his gaze sliding curiously over her small frame, with her head proudly raised and her back straight. She was not dressed in the typical Thalmor robes, but in a more convenient version with a lot of pockets and padding, belted at the waist by a strip of black cloth tied neatly at her side. Her bright eyes shone from a rather round face framed by curly locks of fiery hair, most of which was plaited in a series of braids tied together in a complicated bun at the top of her head. The tips of the braids hung loosely around it, creating an elegant veil of red strands. Her face was firm, shaped in a cautious, observant expression, and her thin lips were pressed tightly together. That was, until she spoke to the three of them.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," she said. "It seems that I gained a powerful rival among Squires. Anyway, I believe I haven't caught your names in all that chaos…"

"Brynjolf of the Thieves Guild," Brynjolf sighed in resignation, "and this is Lucia, the Dragonborn's daughter."

Lucia smiled at Brynjolf, pleased to have heard her name from him for the first time.

"Dark Brotherhood, Thieves Guild… the Dragonborn sure keeps herself a strange company," the Squire chuckled. "Not that I picked better, though."

Babette looked as though she wanted to say something to defend herself, but then frowned and remained silent.

"You did say something about the Thalmor betraying you," Brynjolf pointed. Reinya Talwen nodded as she set the torch in one of the holders on the walls and seated herself opposite of him.

"Yes, and you deserve to know the truth. However, I would first like to know about the Dragonborn. Is she safe?"

"Most probably, aye," he replied and wished for it to be true. His eyes slid to Lucia who was playing with a buckle on her backpack.

"You really don't trust me, do you?" she asked with a shake of her head. Her curly hair bounced around her face and she raised her hand to put it away. "Eloquent is one of the last words I would call you."

"When you've been through all that I experienced in the last two months, you'll learn not to be eloquent," he grumbled.

"All right," she sighed. "I will start and perhaps I can convince you on the way. The story is actually quite simple." She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. "We, the Altmer, are the direct descendants of Aldmer. Of course, there are more than us, but we consider ourselves the purest race." Brynjolf knit his brows at her speech, not quite ecstatic about the way it was heading. "The problem is that our people had long forgotten what our true purpose is."

"Is there even such a thing?" the thief questioned doubtfully. The Squire smirked and her eyes glistened in the flickering light of the torch.

"We are an elder race, and therefore we are destined to become your guide," she explained patiently and Brynjolf felt as though he was being lectured at school. "We are also the first wielders of magic among mortals, the masters of the arcane arts. In many ways, we are superior to you, including our senses and also lifespan. Or, to be precise, we should be. A lot of these traits had been lost, however, as our race degraded into a nation of power hungry monsters."

"You can lose your innate abilities?" the Nord wondered.

"You can, if you forget who you are. We had been created to live as one with nature, but our lust for dominance drove us to your cities. The Aldmer, and the Altmer who succeeded them, kept turning away from our cause, fighting and destroying, and forgot the way of the old eventually. It all got even worse when the Dragon War had broken out. The dragons brought new ideology with them, one where power equaled absolute truth. There were those who came to believe it, and even though most of us opposed dragons, a lot of the Mer turned out the same as them in the end. Luckily, not many were powerful enough to pose a threat. But here we are, still fighting, and now Elenwen is requesting help from our greatest enemy, Alduin himself!"

Brynjolf frowned, watching the dancing flames as though he had been hypnotized by them. He slowly pondered what he had just been told. The concept of power as absolute truth was alien to him, but it did remind him of a certain Aldmer he had recently fought.

"So maybe Andariath Torelloy was one of them as well," he muttered. The elven woman before him froze.

"I beg your pardon?" she said slowly. The thief shook his head.

"It's nothing," he waved his hand but she did not look convinced.

"You just said a name," she pressed.

"Andariath Torelloy. There's no way you'd—"

"That man!" the elf exclaimed. "So he's still around?"

"You know him?" Brynjolf asked in surprise.

"Yes." The reply sounded bitter and remorseful. "I have been here for some time now. But I thought he disappeared."

"Who is he? Apart from the guy who constantly uses us for his own benefit?"

"Oh gods… apparently, if my sources are correct, he is… he _was_ an Aldmer nobleman. A magical prodigy, but his family was not among the most respected ones. He was opposed to the way the court worked at that time some four thousand years ago, and so he kidnapped the crown princess, although the credibility of it being a kidnapping is questionable. The said crown princess, Tricya was her name, lacked talent for magic to the extent that the court wanted to replace her with one of lower status. She was constantly bullied and cast aside, even by her own servants, and the only thing that kept them from condemning her completely was her extraordinary talent for martial arts. With a sword in her hand, she could singlehandedly defeat ten magi at once without getting a single scratch. Rumor had it that the young Andariath was obsessed with her and kept visiting her frequently. But the moment those two left, the court did the worst thing they could to them." The Squire paused, groping about her pockets. She pulled out a small bottle and took a sip, and Brynjolf, realizing that his lips were dry and so was his throat, followed her example with a flask of water. He then tried to pass it to Lucia, but noticed that the girl had fallen asleep in the meantime, just as the vampire beside her had, and the two of them were now propped against each other with their heads pressed together, their chests rising slightly with every breath. He smiled briefly before turning back to Reinya Talwen.

"And that was?" he asked curiously.

"They erased their names from the history," the elf continued with a sorrowful expression. "Both of them were disinherited, their families denying that they had ever been born. All traces of their existence were destroyed and their names were added to the national ban list. No one was allowed to ever mention them."

"Is such a thing even possible?" Brynjolf whispered incredulously.

"It is, if you live in the elven society, and it is crueler than you might think. If your name is erased, you literally cease to exist in the minds of everyone. No one talks to you, no one spares you a single look, no one gives you food or bed to sleep at, no one has the slightest mercy on you. You turn into a ghost, and if you want to leave the Summerset Isles, you have to build your own boat."

"But they managed to leave."

"Yes, they did," Reinya Talwen affirmed gravely. "She then became his right hand, the Angel of Death as they called her, for she was as cruel as she was beautiful. The few who survived her raids only remembered her beautiful long white-gold hair that she supposedly never tied up, and even then she made sure they were eliminated short after. No-one saw her and lived, and she slaughtered them by hundreds, maybe thousands. But the worst thing was that she did not just simply kill them. She collected their souls, all of them, so the two of them would live on for eternity. The ones that she did not use to prolong their lifespan were transformed into raw power. Everyone feared them… but then, when the Oblivion crisis came to an end, they suddenly disappeared and no one heard of them ever since. Until now, that is."

"I'm quite positive that Andariath Torelloy had no companion the last time we met," Brynjolf objected with a frown. "Sinawen had helped him before, and I can't bring myself to believe she was the same person as this princess you are talking about."

"No, she was definitely not," Reinya agreed. "I have not collected all the information on Sinawen yet, but as far as I know, she was a simple errand girl, born into a less influential family leading a very simple life. But… this would mean…" her eyes widened slowly as the bits and pieces connected in her mind. "Can he use the Thu'um?"

"He most definitely can," the thief uttered sourly.

"And you said he uses you for his own benefit? Can you specify that a little?"

Brynjolf, albeit a little unwillingly, stretched his limbs and started talking about how Samuel had recovered a strange dragon claw, how he and Aislinn had met Sinawen, chased Andariath Torelloy up to the Throat of the World and how he had spoken to Aislinn after she had been freed at the elven base. All that time, Reinya's gaze was fixed on the crackling flame of the torch as she processed the whole story. Brynjolf could not help but be amazed at how her face grew more serious with every word.

"So," she concluded at last, "you were told that the Dragonborn had to devour Alduin's soul to save Tamriel, is that right?"

"Aye."

"This is bad," she shook her head as if she was trying to chase away an obnoxious fly. "This is definitely bad."

"You don't say," he snorted sardonically.

"You don't understand," she said with apparent urgency in her voice. "This all makes so much sense that it terrifies me to even think about it. He is one of those who are obsessed with power. Not simply ruling, like Elenwen wants, but wielding so much power that he could literally own the world. He wants to be eternal and invincible. So far, he gained this power by devouring mortals, but he realized that this would not work forever. The only thing that would make him even more powerful, superior to all the beings on Nirn, would be devouring a dragon. The catch is, however, that only a Dragonborn can do that."

"So what is he planning to do?" Brynjolf asked, perplexed.

"Are you really this dense or do you simply refuse to believe what I am telling you?" the elf grunted. "He wants to devour the Dragonborn, of course. After she has gotten to the peak of her power. After she has faced her destiny and defeated Alduin. He believes that he will still be stronger, no matter how much power she gets from that."

Brynjolf shook his head in disbelief. He had received plenty of shocking news already, and he was slowly starting to think that he was getting used to it, but this was simply too much. It was either this woman or Andariath Torelloy, but one of them must definitely be crazy. Unless it was a bad joke from the side of Reinya Talwen. A really, really bad joke.

* * *

 _So… let's say I'm not too confident about this chapter but I rewrote it so many times already that I think I have to publish it._

 _Just a side note – Tricya is pronounced the same as Trisha, it's just a little elven spelling. :D_

 _Also, adding to the notes from previous chapters: when I was reading some materials for our history seminar, I finally understood the difference between "unite" and "unify". Well, it's just a guess but tell me if I'm wrong. Some people interchange them as they please, but basically, you unite people into one unit (see the similarity?), a single body that acts as one. You usually unify land, like when there are lots of independent provinces and you establish a system to connect them (including economy, infrastructure and such) and one government to control them, that is called unification. Right?_

 _Now the thing I wanted to save for the end. I apologize that I am so late in publishing this chapter. Truth be told, it's not just because I was busy with school. The main reason is probably lack of motivation caused by insufficient response to my stories, and especially this one. In the last four weeks or so, I noticed quite a lot of people reading through the whole story. I'm not blind and I can do simple math operations like addition and multiplication quite well to see that if there is three more views to every chapter, one of which is from Finland, the other from USA and the last from Canada, that three people read the story from top to bottom. That said, there have been tens of people like this recently, and none of them, not a single one, left any trace that they have been here. I mean… yeah, I can understand when they stop at the first five chapters, because maybe they tried and dropped the story after deciding they don't like it. But this? No favorite, no follow, no review, no nothing, and I find it plain rude and ungrateful. I really don't expect anyone to review every chapter, but if all the people who read the story left a single review, I'd have them at least doubled by now (and no, it doesn't mean that about half of you write reviews, it means that barely a tenth of you do and they do it frequently – so thank you, all of you who did)._

 _"But Mirwen, professional authors don't always get feedback…"_

 _Yes. But they get paid and I don't, so that might be their motivation. I counted the hours spent on this story, and got to 200 hours of writing only. Triple it to have it with all the thinking included and you have about 75 working days, meaning that if I did it as a full-time job, I would spend three and a half months working on it. Compared to that, what are the two minutes of your life to write a single review?_

 _Several of my friends told me that I should write for myself and not for the lazy ungrateful *** (I'll leave the word they used to your imagination) who keep making excuses such as "someone else will do it, so why me". They were right, of course, but I'm afraid I can't quite do it. When you decide to put the story down and publish it, you expect it to be read and commented on. I can see it's being read, but I have no idea what people think of it and barely anyone to talk to about it. So I lost my drive. And when I don't have motivation, I don't really see a reason to write and my story gets crappy, and so I just don't write._

 _That said, I will make no promises on when the next chapter is going to be released, because it depends on my mood. It will be released for sure (unless I die or lose my eyes or hands), but the time will be when I feel like it._

 _Pietersielie, Twillin, dart0808: Thank you for staying loyal to the story and for always supporting me and helping me improve._

 _Mirwen_


	33. Before the Trap Snaps

**Chapter 33: Before the Trap Snaps**

The night had fallen over Whiterun, the shimmering starry mantle covering the dark skies, its edges glowing in bright colors of the aurora spreading along the horizon. There were a few places from where these colors could be seen despite the torches and lanterns lighting the streets, and Jon was standing in one of them, a watchtower looming just by the Battle-Born residence. He watched the still land, the plains rippled by an occasional bush or rock which ascended into the hill the city of Whiterun was built on. There was one particular place not too far from the watchtower he was occupying that could prove a weak spot if there was to be a battle, a slight bulge in the ground which rose up to almost three quarters of the city walls' height. There were guards constantly observing this place, but the elven menace was expected to come from the other side, where the river passed the city and the soil was fertile and maintained.

Jon leaned against the massive wall made in huge boulders held together by a special kind of mortar which earned itself a befitting nickname. The Nords of Skyrim called it Dragon Saliva, for it was the kind that would resist the fiercest fire and could carry countless dragons without crumbling down beneath them. And so, in spite of all the concern he was burdened with, he still had to chuckle, thinking that Whiterun would not give up without a fight, and it would be a good one, worthy of songs and legends to arise. He patted the grey matter with almost motherly love, watched a firefly pass it in its endless roaming through the dark and turned around, heading to the Drunken Huntsman where Lydia was sure to be waiting for him.

He did not meet anyone on his way, save for a few guards with torches, each of them greeting him with respect. When he entered the Huntsman, a cloud of smoke and the pleasant smell of pumpkin soup and deer stew welcomed him. The inn was livelier than he knew it, a number of refugees seated all around, the stairs and the stone edge of the hearth in the center included. A few tables were spared however, by the order of Elrindir, its Bosmer owner who, despite the hard times, wanted to keep the business running. One of them was currently occupied by Lydia while the other ones remained empty.

Jon's eyes drifted to the beautiful young woman serving dinner to the refugees, with her silver hair tied up in a tight ponytail and a Skyforge steel sword attached to her waist as though she was ready for battle. Olfina Gray-Mane, a woman who never missed an opportunity to show that she was just as capable as any man around, and who had recently adopted the responsibility of tending to the refugees while supervising them. Consequently, she had been running back and forth between the Drunken Huntsman and the Bannered Mare, always ready to help whenever it was needed. Jon raised his hand and waved at her inconspicuously, but she pretended not to see it, as she always did. He sighed and ordered a mug of Honningbrew mead – the Black-Briar version – before making for Lydia's table.

"Lydia," he greeted the housecarl nonchalantly. "So good to see you here!"

"You too, Jon," she said with a smile and nodded to the chair on the opposite side of the table. He sat down and placed his mug on the table, the sound of glaze touching the wood drowned by the voices of the people around. They exchanged a few polite phrases to avoid suspicion, and then Jon leaned over the table to close the distance between the two of them.

"Any news so far?" he asked silently.

"None," the woman replied with a shake of her head. "It has just been a little over two hours. I've been sitting here most of the time, listening to local chitchat, but nothing seemed suspicious, maybe except for one thing. Belethor obviously sides up with the refugees and provides them with all sorts of things for free."

"For free?"

"Exactly."

"That Belethor."

"Yes."

"Well, he certainly doesn't behave like his usual self, that's for sure," Jon stated thoughtfully. "Better keep an eye on him."

"I do suspect that there is some kind of hidden profit behind it," Lydia mused. "Either way, he can't be the only one involved in this. So where do we start?"

"I'm afraid my hands are tied here," he sighed in apology. "I have duties to the court and I'm afraid I would raise suspicion, sneaking around in attempt to get to the root of this. But someone should interrogate the local merchants. If someone holds a clue to this, I believe it's them."

"I guess it's up to me then. Any idea whom I should ask first?"

"Anyone, really. I suppose Ulfberth and Eorlund are above suspicion, but you can try them just in case. Maybe they will have some valuable information. The ones from the central market, though, they seem to know a lot. They're always in the middle of everything, after all."

"And if that fails?"

Jon exhaled deeply and rubbed his temples with his fingers. "A tough question. I guess we'll have to watch out for things to come. The works on the plumbing and the palisade should start tomorrow morning, which means the city will be vulnerable. We should have someone reliable over here as well."

"I think I can cover that for the time being," Lydia offered. "And Vilkas can take care of the construction site. He's sending his men there anyway."

"Good. Then it's decided. I'm usually off duty around noon so let's meet before Jorrvaskr then."

"All right. I'll be going then. You'd rather stay a while and pretend you came to have a drink. But don't get drunk. The risk is too high."

"Nah," Jon waved his hand with a snort, "drinking alone isn't fun at all."

Lydia chuckled and rose from her seat, stretching her arms. Her joints gave out a loud crack which made Jon's hair stand on end, but he reminded himself that, despite being clothed in light grey and gold linen robe, she was still a warmaiden whose bones and muscles were probably harder than the ones of most of the men around here. She left with a slight nod and Jon watched contemplatively as the door closed behind her. Then his gaze drifted to Olfina who had finished distributing the food and was now tending to the hearth, her hands full of kindling and small logs.

"Shall I help you with that, puss?" a sturdy Nord with ginger hair and a thick curly beard called to her affectedly. Jon tensed and squeezed the edge of the table, ready to jump up at the first sign of aggression, but Olfina just smiled and turned to the man.

"I'm good, thank you for asking," she said politely. "But if you insist, you can help Elrindir with the dishes. He's a little short-handed there."

The man grunted disconcertedly, but stood up as his companions encouraged him in a not overly friendly manner, making for the counter where the Bosmer owner of the inn was occupying himself with the dishes. Elrindir smiled at him humorlessly and handed him a towel to dry the clean ones, and the Nord took it with equal amount of kindliness in his eyes. Jon sighed and turned his attention to the unfinished mug of mead which lay on the table. He downed it in an instant, scowling bitterly. The taste was really not that great when he had no one to share it with. He waited for a short while, hypnotizing the warm flame in the hearth, and then left the inn, nodding curtly to both Olfina and Elrindir.

He inhaled deeply when he stepped outside, drawing the fresh air deep into his lungs. He made for his house, hoping to get a good night's sleep this time, but stopped the moment he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Olfina hurrying toward him, her face full of concern.

"Jon," she breathed in an urgent tone. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Olfina. I weren't expecting you to…"

"Oh, Jon," she repeated. "Please, tell me you're not up to something dangerous."

"Why… why do you think that?"

"I'm not blind. I saw how you talked to Lydia. You're both working for my uncle… and I _know_ something is up, I just know it! He's been so anxious recently. And your father… I heard you two had a fight. Are you all right?"

Jon retreated to a nearby torch, purposely driving Olfina closer so he could take a better look at her. She seemed exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes and weary look in her face, her back slightly bent which was not something he was used to seeing. He thought about how much effort it must have taken her to conceal it in front of all those ingratiating men who kept staring at her and making comments about her very feminine appearance which contrasted her demeanor.

"Quite so," he told her softly, "but you don't seem to be all that well yourself. Don't strain yourself too much."

"Everyone is straining themselves these days," she sighed, "and I can't afford to stay behind. Jon, I'm worried about you. Your father, you know… I took the liberty to sneak up on him several times. I must admit he's being very secretive about everything he's doing, but I'm certain that he and Belethor are planning something together. The two of them have been meeting a lot. I suppose it doesn't surprise you that much, but I thought you might want to know."

"I do," he nodded. "Thank you for telling me."

"Please, be careful, Jon," she urged him, putting her hands on his shoulders. "He… your father… he seems… different. I'm worried about what he might do."

"On the bright side, it seems that the two of us won't have to keep this up for much longer," he said in a comforting voice. She laughed bitterly at that.

"It would have been better if we didn't have to concern ourselves with our stupid family matters at all. It's such a disgrace."

"Let's hope it's all over soon," Jon uttered with a trace of resignation in his voice. "In the end, everyone will have to pick a side if we are to end this war."

"True," Olfina concurred with a slight smile. "Hopefully we will all pick the right one."

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments, before Jon spoke, and a touch of loneliness crept its way into his voice. "I must go. Take care of yourself, Olfina."

"You too, Jon. Don't do anything rash."

"I'll try," he said and could not help an impish smile. Olfina frowned and gave him a scolding look.

"Seriously, don't," she pointed sharply. Then her expression softened and she gave him a gentle kiss on the forehead before walking away, back to the Huntsman and the chores that awaited her there. Jon looked after her with a yearning look in his eyes and then turned around helplessly, heading back to the Battle-Born residence. Olfina only reminded him of how much he wanted the war to end, and if there was something he could do for it, he would do it. Then again, despite acting brave and courageous in front of her, great fear burdened his heart like a giant rock, and its cause was probably sleeping in his own house. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

* * *

A loud knock on the door woke Lydia up. For once, she had decided to bed down on the wooden panels of the ground floor in Breezehome, next to the crackling fire in the middle of the room, so she would hear when the guard came and let her know it was time. She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes, listening to the silent footsteps outside. She had chosen this particular guard because she trusted him, and he had done his job perfectly, keeping low profile and walking away after five knocks. Just as planned.

She took a few bites of an apple lying on a nearby cupboard before squeezing herself into her ebony armor and attaching Chillrend to her waist. She watched the icy blade for a short time, reminiscing about the times she had spent with her Thane with nostalgia, and then made for the entrance, attaching a small pouch to her waist on the way.

It was still dark outside, and a light veil of clouds had hidden the stars from her sight. The city was as tranquil as before, only the occasional chirp of a lark broke the silence from time to time, announcing the forthcoming sunrise. She crept through the streets silently, heading for the marketplace, and thanked Aislinn in her thoughts, as she had many times before, for the wonderful magical armor which muffled her footsteps and concealed her presence from prying eyes. It was time to test one of the tricks that her Thane had taught her. She pulled a lockpick out of her pouch and quietly approached the entrance to Belethor's house. After making sure that no one was watching her, she inserted it into the keyhole, as well as a thin wooden stake. Carefully, she pushed the lockpick deeper and deeper along the notches until it stabilized, and turned it slowly. A silent click informed her that the door was now unlocked and the road was clear. She disappeared behind it like a ghost and it closed behind her soundlessly.

She groped for the pouch again and took out a tiny candle and a piece of tinder. Lighting her path, she crawled to the counter and to the small room beneath it, searching for any suspicious material she could find. She found several barrels with commonly available ingredients, a box full of ingots, a few pieces of fabric and some other uninteresting articles. Nothing in the accounting book indicated anything unusual, except for significant lack of clients which was understandable at a time like this. Next to the book lay a pile of papers which included a few letters from Eorlund, Ulfberth and Arcadia, and a list of things necessary for the upcoming plumbing construction. Then there was an almost empty diary, and finally the schedule for the next few days. She scanned it quickly and sighed when she did not find anything useful. She stretched out her hand to put the schedule back in its place when a folded corner caught her attention. And there, beneath one page, a piece of paper was carefully glued to it by its edge so it would appear as a single sheet of paper instead of two. She unfolded it and read the note on the other side. It stated:

 _6_ _th_ _Frostfall, 11 o'clock in the morning, Ysolda's house – Khajiit_

Lydia took a deep breath and placed the paper back where it belonged. 6th Frostfall was yesterday, the day when the supplies from the Khajiit caravan had been stolen, and she believed it was no mere coincidence that a while after that, the suspicious Whiterun merchant was meeting with Ysolda to discuss something concerning the Khajiit. But of course, why had it not occurred to her before. Ysolda had always been bragging about her deals with the cat people and how she would one day join their caravans. But to be implicated in the incident that could as well destroy the whole city? That did not sound like Ysolda at all.

Lydia mentally prepared herself to interrogate her new suspect when she heard footsteps on the upper floor. She felt the urge to freeze in place, but resisted it, aware that she must escape as soon as possible. She put out the candlelight and wrapped the candle in a thin layer of leather, placing it back in the pouch, and crept to the front door as fast as she could. She could have escaped through the side door right from the smaller room beneath the counter, but that would mean she would have to leave the main entrance unlocked which would certainly raise suspicion. Thanking her Thane for the armor yet again, she quietly opened the door ajar and sneaked beneath it. Luckily, no guards were present and so she locked the door again and moved away from it without a sound. Then she relaxed her muscles, sat down on the edge of the well at the center of the square and watched as the sun slowly made its way above the eastern horizon, listening to the roosters announcing the new day.

She watched as the streets filled with people busy with preparations for the construction of the palisade and the plumbing. Smiths, merchants and their assistants were carrying materials up to the Skyforge, the biggest forge in Whiterun and probably in all of Skyrim, where they would be turned into pipes, pegs, joints and shaping tools. Strong men were gathered at the square and then sent outside the walls to the construction site. Several women were instructed to prepare their meals and tend to them. Arcadia, the local alchemist, rushed from her shop with two baskets full of potions, herbs and bandages, ready to serve as a healer in case there were casualties.

"Lydia, got a spare moment?" a voice called to her and she turned to face Sigurd, Belethor's assistant. "There is so much to do that I'm rushed off my feet. Would you mind bringing this up to the Skyforge?" He was handing her a pile of papers with various sketches, charts and tables, their edges overflowing with scribbled notes.

"Sure," she nodded and took them from the weary man. "Don't overdo it right from the start. We will need every hand possible if we are to live through this."

Sigurd bowed to her slightly and scurried to the lower parts of the city. Lydia quickly scanned the papers, making sure that no piece of information escaped her, and when she found nothing of use there, she delivered them to Eorlund who was awaiting her impatiently, shaping a piece of steel into a round hammer. She spread them around and weighted them down with boulders at his request, and then made her way back to the square, watching Vilkas issue orders to the Companions as she passed him.

Ysolda's short red hair shone among the countless shades of black, brown and occasional blonde, so Lydia's eyes had no problem spotting her from afar. She hurried to the woman, apologizing here and there to the people who quickly jumped out of her way, not willing to collide with the sturdy armored warmaiden she was. She caught her at Carlotta Valentia's stand, assisting its owner with counting the supplies needed for today's meals.

"Good day to you, ladies," Lydia greeted the two of them politely. "Ysolda, can I have a word with you?"

"I'm a little busy at the moment…"

"So I see. How about I help you with this?"

"That would be much appreciated."

Lydia nodded and looked at the list pinned to one of the wooden pillars supporting the stand's roof. The work was harder than she had expected and the three of them had to triple check all of the prepared ingredients after separating them, count them all again and make certain that they had selected the right ones. Then they had to record everything on a separate sheet of paper and make a list of the remaining supplies. The sun was high up on the sky when they had finished and Lydia exhaled deeply, looking at the prepared baskets of food with exhausted look.

"This is worse than slaying a horde of trolls," she remarked wearily. Her two companions gave an amused laugh.

"So, you wanted to talk to me?" Ysolda asked her then. Lydia gestured to the Breezehome, earning herself a curious look.

"In private if possible."

She led the way and entered the house, holding the door for Ysolda who quickly followed. The red-hair raised her eyebrows at the sleeping bag on the floor and Lydia picked it up immediately, smiling in apology. After a short while, the two of them were seated by the kitchen table, looking at each other through the cloudlets of steam coming from the two cups of tea in their hands.

"This looks so serious," Ysolda commented and a trace of anxiety was apparent in her tone. "What is it, Lydia?"

Lydia took a sip from her cup and inhaled deeply. "I'm going to be frank with you, Ysolda. This may seem a bit sudden, but I need to know what you discussed with Belethor yesterday."

The merchant gave her an alarmed look. "I… what… how do you know?"

"It doesn't matter. Please, tell me the truth."

"No, Lydia, this is a trade secret, I can't divulge it."

"What if I tell you that Whiterun is currently in grave danger and you might be able to save us?"

Ysolda widened her eyes and stared at Lydia disconcertedly. "I… no… what are you talking about?"

Lydia rubbed her temples and tried to think of a way to persuade Ysolda without having to reveal the secret behind Whiterun's supplies. This was a difficult task and she was a warrior, not a diplomat or interrogator. Her Thane seemed to have a way with words, but that did not apply for her humble housecarl who only served as her sword and shield.

"Look," she started tentatively, "in this war, the Khajiit may be the only ones able to roam the land freely. It is essential that we keep track of their movement so we can look for them when it's necessary."

"There is something you're not telling me," Ysolda said with a frown and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you want me to cooperate, you've got to be honest with me. In return, I can assure you that I am more than capable of keeping a secret."

Lydia sighed and stared into her cup, creating ripples with a shake of her hand. "All right," she uttered in resignation. "The Khajiit are providing Whiterun with supplies every now and then. Without them, we would be close to starving to death by now. But the recent ration has been found ravaged and looted and I have no idea what happened to the caravan itself."

Ysolda stared at her and put her elbows on the table for support. "Are you… are you serious?"

"Listen, this is an absolute secret. The order came from Jarl Balgruuf himself and no one knows what – or who – is behind this all. I only know about it because Vignar sent me to investigate."

"I… I know that the Khajiit have a leader of some sort. The caravans are organized and they move based on certain pattern, but I don't know the details."

"That said, this particular caravan arrived three days ahead of the schedule – on the same day that you met with Belethor."

"Oh no," Ysolda breathed. "So… you're suspecting me of some kind of… no, you got it all wrong."

"So will you tell me now?"

"Look, Belethor only had a message from Eimar. He said that the Khajiit were closing down the business temporarily. I had a lot of deals with them and Eimar sometimes acted as a go-between."

"And that's what you were so secretive about?"

"Well… they _are_ trying to conceal their movement, so yes. Ah," Ysolda sighed when Lydia regarded her with a look full of doubt and suspicion, "there is… there _was_ this guy called Ri'saad. He was something like their leader. Their body can function without him, so they probably have some kind of backup, but it takes some time to adapt and not everything goes smoothly when the person in charge dies. It has become their weakness and they certainly don't want the elves to know."

Lydia nodded in slow motion, rubbing her chin pensively. "So you really have no clue about what happened."

"No, I don't," the red-hair replied with an apologetic expression.

"Just to be sure, what do you think of Belethor?"

"Well, we were never friends or anything like that, but he does speak a lot to Mallus Maccius, Eimar's employer, who works down at the meadery, and since we have some common business, we sometimes discuss it. I don't really like Belethor and he sits too much on his own profit, but I think we merchants should stick together."

"Wait. Doesn't Maccius sell mead?"

"He's getting a lot of merchandise from other sources, mostly the Khajiit. Although I don't know what he's doing now that the business is suspended."

"Thank you, Ysolda," Lydia said at last. "You've helped me a lot. Can I have a small request?"

"Go ahead."

"I'm going to pay Mallus Maccius a visit, but I need someone to look after the city. If you see anything suspicious, anything at all that you think might put the Whiterun in danger, can you send for me or Jon Battle-Born?"

"I will," Ysolda promised. "Good luck, Lydia."

The housecarl stood up and smiled. "Good luck to you too."

The two of them left the house, splitting ways at its threshold. Ysolda headed back to the marketplace while Lydia made for the city gate, greeting the guards on her way. She joined the crowd of people hurrying down the hill and to the farms, most of them carrying axes to chop wood or tools for construction like hammers, spanners, tongs, pincers, nails, rivets, hinges and other material. Lydia took a box full of nuts and buckles from one of them and reduced the man's burden until they reached the crossroad ahead. She then turned right and took a short walk across the small bridge over the arm of the White River and down to the meadery. Its sign welcomed her with the inscription stating "Black-Briar Meadery" in neat ornate letters, although Lydia still remembered the times when it had belonged to the Honningbrew family whose name it had also borne. Personally, she had not noticed much difference in the quality and the taste of the local mead ever since the meadery had changed its owner, but she had never been a fan of Maven Black-Briar and could not help regarding the change with slight distaste.

Lydia stepped into the small courtyard and looked around attentively. The area around the meadery was deserted save for two butterflies flapping their wings playfully as they chased each other in a wild game of tag. The entrance door was closed and apparently locked, so she gave three knocks to announce her arrival. There was no response from inside, and so she repeated the process twice before pulling out her lockpick again. After a short while, she was standing at the doorstep and peeking inside, but the place seemed barren and quiet. She entered the house and studied every corner of its first room, the counter, the tables standing by the walls, the barrels full of mead and two cupboards at the back, and felt a slight tickle in her stomach. Something was not right.

To her right opened a vast room filled with barrels and other containers. She jinked past them and ascended the stairs to the upper floor, circling the room along its perimeter to enter the bedroom. She cursed the person who had designed the place, whoever it was, thinking that its occupants would be doomed to die the moment a fire broke out, since the only way to escape would be jumping out of the window. Upon opening the bedroom door, she gasped and all the color retreated from her face.

Mallus Maccius lay by his bed in a pool of his own blood, devoid of life, with empty eyes and his throat cut wide open. Judging by the color of the blood and his skin, he could not have died more than a few hours before she had come.

"Sheogorath's mad eyes and bloody troll heads," Lydia cussed aloud. She quickly scanned the room and entered the one beneath it, only to find it plundered and covered in splinters and shattered glass. All the drawers at the far side of the room were open, and a small casket lay broken on the floor, its contents apparently stolen. Lydia stormed out of the room and jumped down on one of the barrels, not quite bothering with taking the proper way out. She spotted a door to the cellar and entered it quickly, hoping to find at least Mallus's assistant alive.

The cellar was small and filled with even more barrels, and Lydia had to crouch so her head would not hit the ceiling. There was a hidden passage on the opposite side, leading to a long, narrow tunnel, and she took it without the slightest trace of hesitation, only stopping to check if there weren't any traps blocking the way. She encountered a few frostbite spiders and slew them at once, taking them down in a few composed swings of Chillrend.

"Show me some real challenge," she muttered at their corpses as she proceeded further, down and deeper under the surface.

At last, she entered a bigger cave with a few piles of hay gathered along one of its walls. One of them was strangely ruffled, as though something had entered it, and she approached it cautiously, putting the hay away layer by layer. A muffled voice came from inside, shaky and hoarse.

"No, no! Please, don't kill me! I haven't done anything!"

Finally, Lydia's hands took away the last layer and revealed a thin young man with hair of the same color as the hay he was hiding in, plaited in two thin braids, his fringe glued together by sweat and blood. His face and arms were cut at several places and covered in dirt, and he looked at Lydia with wide eyes, his expression frantic with fear.

"No… don't…!"

"Calm down, Eimar," Lydia whispered in a soothing voice. "It's just me, Lydia. The Dragonborn's housecarl."

He blinked at her and exhaled deeply, falling to his knees and covering his face with his hands.

"Nine preserve us," he breathed. "Please, tell me you're here to save me."

"I'll get you out of here," she said softly, squatting down so she could take a better look at him, "but I need to know what happened here."

"I… I really don't know. I was downstairs at the meadery, preparing for the new day. Mallus had told me to get some food ready and deliver it to the construction… we… we had discussed it with Belethor, you know. But then three men just ran into the house. I noticed them before they could spot me and hid, but they went upstairs and… I think they killed Mallus. I just ran away when I had the chance."

"Do you have any idea who they were?"

"They wore the Thieves Guild armor, but I can't believe the Guild would actually do something like this." Eimar finally raised his head "They… oh, I think it doesn't matter anymore if I tell other people about it. Mallus… he had some deals with them. The Khajiit usually served as their middlemen. We traded with them and sometimes did business with Ysolda from the city…"

"The city was supposed to get supplies from the Khajiit yesterday, but they were stolen before we got there. Do you know anything about it?"

"No, I didn't even know that the city was in contact with them. But I guess Olfrid Battle-Born doesn't miss a chance."

"Wait," Lydia frowned. "What does Olfrid Battle-Born have to do with this?"

"Why everything!" Eimar threw up his hands. "He is the Guild's main contact in the city… you mean to tell me you didn't know that despite knowing about the caravans?"

"Oh gods," Lydia gasped. "He's been lying to us all along. Of course nobody knew when Balgruuf had left Whiterun, but I bet the Jarl wasn't expecting this kind of treachery… Quickly," she added with sudden urgency in her voice. "We have to get back to the city. Can you walk?"

"I'm fine, I just have a few scratches from the skeevers and spiders I met here. But there are no weapons I could use…"

"The way out should be clear, but stick close to me just in case."

He nodded and the two of them rose at once, hurrying back to the meadery and out. They hurried along the stream and across the bridge, ignoring the curious glances the newly appointed builders gave them. Lydia knew that time was against them, for Olfrid was bound to find out about her little investigation any minute. The road to the city seemed endless, dragging as the two of them were pacing up the slope which slowed them down mercilessly. The housecarl looked up at the sun and realized it was well past the meeting time with Jon, which did not improve her mood either.

At last, they entered the city and the murmur of the thickening crowd grew louder. They fought their way through the mass of people in the lower part of the city and made for the marketplace. Just before entering it, a voice called to Lydia and she stopped to find its source. Jon was rushing toward her in breathtaking speed, his face pale in the afternoon sun and his expression grave. She frowned and waited.

"Lydia," he panted as he stopped before her, bending down and propping his hands against his upper thighs to gain support. "I was… looking for you. We need to talk."

"Indeed we do. Breezehome?" she asked briefly.

The bard shot a glance at Eimar but Lydia just waved her hand.

"He's okay," she said. "We can trust him."

"Let's get going then."

All three of them darted back toward Aislinn's house. After seating her two guests at the kitchen table in Breezehome, Lydia prepared some tea and joined them.

"So," she began, taking a deep breath, "what's the word, Jon?"

"We're in big trouble," he sighed helplessly, resting his head in his hands.

"Figures. What sort of trouble?"

"I found a letter in my father's room. Its contents are of no importance, really, except one small fact."

"And that is?"

"It's from Jarl Siddgeir and it's from two days ago."

"Siddgeir?" Lydia repeated incredulously. "The jarl of Falkreath?"

"Yes."

Lydia stared into one of the corners and tried to discern the threads of a spider web which was spread over it, contemplating the newly acquired information. Siddgeir, the overly confident and ambitious jarl who was not afraid to sell his own people for the promise of gold and glory. The jarl of the hold which lay in the exact opposite direction from the elven camp she had discovered. For once, she had decided to put aside her manners and relieve her stress directly.

"Oh shit," she said simply.

* * *

 _Sooooo. Uhm. I hope you liked this chapter, because, personally, I think it's one of my best. That said, I really like the Whiterun arc, because I think I thought it up well. Except for one thing that I discovered today and I facepalmed like crazy when I did. The thing is, I made the city feel threatened because they could lose access to water, but then I launched the game and found out that Whiterun was sitting on a stream. Oh darn. So I apologize for this mistake. I might try to reason it out somehow, because the stream is really tiny and it probably wouldn't suffice for a city full of refugees, but it doesn't excuse the fact that it's not even mentioned in the story. Truth be told, I relied on a map that I found on the internet and the stream was not included there. Faiiil!_

 _Moving on. Some of you wrote me some wonderful reviews after last chapter had been published, and I was really surprised to see that none of you were mad at me for my rant at its end. So I am infinitely grateful to you and thank you so much for encouraging me! :3_

 _scrandle: Thank you very much for your review. To be honest, I was thinking about how I could include Runa in the story, but there are so many characters already that I'm afraid that it would just seem like forcefully pushing it, and that's not really what I want. It's enough that I'm trying to include every major location in the story. :D  
Badass Khajiit? What are you talking about? Farkhali is the epitome of innocence, after all. O:)_

 _Pietersielie: As always, I am happy to read your reviews. Thank you so much for your kind words, you almost made me cry with joy. It feels great to have such a devoted fan. :)_

 _Twillin: The Altmer is actually pretty badass. You'll see. :D_

 _Jakeice10: Thanks a lot for the awesome review! You don't have to apologize at all, my words were primarily targeted at those who just read the story and don't even follow – basically those invisible readers who just pretend not to exist. Nevertheless, your review made me really happy and I will always be thrilled to hear from you. Thank you so much for the compliment and for your support. :)_

 _As always, many thanks to dart0808 for the beta. :)_

 _So that should be all. The next chapter will be called "Riding the Storm" and Aislinn will finally make an appearance again, so look forward to it. (That's actually the first time that I have thought up a name in advance. :D)_

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	34. Riding the Storm

_A short note before you start reading this: You might notice that the speech of Delvin Mallory has changed. I will rewrite it in the previous chapters as soon as I can. I decided that it's time to stop making excuses that I'm not a native speaker and face English head on. Dialects are also a part of it, so I tried my best to imitate his_ Bri'ish _accent. That said, I still had to make it understandable, so not all the T's are omitted and not everything is changed. Anyway, I hope you like the chapter. Onward to glory! :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 34: Riding the Storm**

The night was nearing its end when Aislinn finally appeared back in her own, tangible world. She had to commend the Guardians of the Scroll, for not only they had teleported her back safely, but also provided her with temporary invisibility so she could pass the elves, who were still waiting for her, unnoticed. Not too many of the hostages remained alive after Andariath Torelloy's little display of cruelty, but she turned her eyes away from the sight, knowing that she must proceed if she was to save at least a portion of Skyrim citizens. She was well outside of the area lit by the elven torches when her figure appeared out of thin air, casting a nearly infinitely long shadow on the damp ground as the first rays of sunlight made their way over the horizon clouded slightly by a violet haze. She looked at the sky and frowned.

Normally, she would welcome the clear sky with open arms, but at this moment, she found the vast sea of blue and violet above her head very inconvenient. She walked a little further, treading carefully so her feet would not carelessly lead her into a swamp. Several mudcrabs were resting in a pool just a few steps ahead, but luckily they did not pay her much attention. A pair of fireflies circled one of the pines to her left and she took a moment to admire them. Skyrim fireflies were known to appear at any hour imaginable, but even when the sun was high up and drowned them in its glow, they still managed to outshine it. Aislinn found it fascinating and never missed a chance to spectate this amazing sight.

After a while of walk, she arrived in a place surrounded by pine trees and a large rock. She looked across the nearest swamp, knowing that an entrance to the Guild's secret passage network was located there, and contemplated where Farkhali might be at the moment. Then she studied her surroundings thoroughly, watching out for any sign of movement or any presence at all.

 _"_ _Laas Yah Nir,"_ she whispered, searching for life force around her, but nothing beside mudcrabs and occasional insects seemed to lurk in the area. She took a deep breath, for she knew she would be making a risky move in a few moments, and threw one quick glance at the sky again. And then she Shouted.

 _"_ _Od Ah Viing!"_ And she waited.

She was sure the elves she had left behind had heard her, and perhaps the ones in Morthal, Solitude and the surrounding towns and villages, though there weren't many, as well. If, by any chance, Odahviing failed to hear her call or respond to her, she would soon have to face many enemies and fight her way through their ranks. She did feel strangely energized after her latest encounter, but that did not mean she had the confidence to fight an army of elves wielding powerful magic and enchanted weapons all by herself.

She did not dare move, listening to every rustle of the wind, every splash of the water. A cone fell down from one of the pine trees and she winced, holding her breath. A silent buzz of dragonfly wings almost made her jump up in the air, and she exhaled shakily upon realizing what had caused it. The waiting was insufferable, but then she heard the familiar humming in the air as the creature above swung its wings with godlike might. She sighed with relief and raised her head, but then her eyes widened with unpleasant surprise. The dragon casting its shadow upon her was not Odahviing.

"Come on, you must be kidding me!" she groaned and took out her bow, instantly nocking an arrow.

She waited for a moment, hoping that the beast would be friendly, but it only used the lull to attack with a cone of frost. According to the dragon classification she had studied at High Hrothgar, it was a legendary, the rarest and most dangerous of them, its bright purple scales shimmering in the morning sun. She frowned with concentration and steadied her hand in aim, silently cursing her luck. The frost enchantment cast upon the bow would have no effect on it either, since this was apparently a frost dragon.

She quickly released the arrow and sidestepped the deadly spray of ice particles at the last moment. At least something went well. The arrow hit the mark, piercing through the thin membrane of skin which covered the lower side of its wing. She was still breathless from calling Odahviing and could not Shout again to pin the reptile to the ground, so the only way to ground it was rid it of the ability to soar. But it was easier said than done, for the actual damage the arrow had done was minimal and the dragon simply ignored he wound, roaring wildly, more in rage than in pain.

Another arrow flew up, but the dragon estimated its path and sped up, making it slide harmlessly along its tail scales. Three more arrows went its way and only one hit its target, but it only made the dragon realize it was hurt. Rage now turned into fury and the beast attacked twice as fiercely, making Aislinn run around frantically without the chance to shoot back. At last, she found a rock which she used as a temporary shield and quickly nocked another arrow, standing at the ready for the moment the dragon would appear in her sight. She strained her ears and listened cautiously, calculating its direction, and released the bowstring when she spotted its head.

Her estimate was perfect. The arrow buried itself in its stomach, making its way right into the dragon's heart. The reptile roared in pain and swooped down to attack with its claws and giant jaws, but the effect of the wound showed itself quickly and made it numb, unable to control its own body. It fell down on the ground, just a few feet from Aislinn, and a cloud of dust enveloped it immediately. The Dragonborn quickly switched to her twin blades and lunged at the beast fiercely, killing it in two swings at the head. She exhaled deeply and looked up again, only to give out a cry of despair as all the color retreated from her face. She had fought two dragons at once, and she had come out with bruises and wounds which she would remember for the rest of her life. Still, the experience might have been worth it and she believed she could take them on again if it came down to it. But a swarm of dragons, a number so great that the sky turned dark from one horizon to another, was an entirely different thing.

"I am dead," she said to herself. "It's over." Her voice was strangely calm, emotionless. Normally, her mind would be racing, trying to find a solution, but now it betrayed her, the feeling of utter defeat erasing every thought until only void remained.

The dragons were closing up on her and she knew they would soon release their magic, burning and freezing her to death at once. Then, flames rained down upon them and they roared, turning their heads upward. A mighty dragon circled above them and his crimson scales reflected the sunlight, making it seem as though the creature was made of pure gold. Aislinn gasped and clenched her fists as the other beasts swarmed around it, but he evaded them easily, turning left and right, dodging their attacks and making his way toward her.

" _Dovakhiin_ ," he called to her. "Your _Thu'um_ is as strong as always."

"Good to see you too, Odahviing," she shouted to the fray, her voice loud and clear over the humming of dragon wings and their cries.

The dragon approached her in a breathtaking speed, stretching out his leg, and she grabbed it swiftly. Soon, her feet left the ground and she was flying in the air. Odahviing took a sharp turn upward and darted toward the skies. At last, Aislinn felt her breath return and, deciding that this was not the time to take risks, Shouted immediately.

 _"_ _Feim Zii Gron!"_

She felt her body lighten as it became translucent, and exhaled shakily as a shower of flames poured through her the moment after. A dragon's head entered her body and she suppressed the need to throw up. Odahviing fought against the air, speeding up so Aislinn's ears throbbed as the wind blew around her. He dragged her far above the mass of winged bodies, up where the thick layer of clouds would normally be, and then he called to her again.

"Let go, _Dovakhiin_!"

"What?!" It was the only thing she managed to articulate.

"Just let go! Trust me! That is how you _joor_ say it, correct?"

Aislinn looked at her hand, tightly gripping the huge claw, and hesitated for only a slight moment before releasing it. Her body stopped in midair for a split second before initiating its fall back to the ground, but the crimson dragon made a quick turn and leapt down in an instant. He folded his wings and outran her, then spread them again and slowed down, catching her before she reached the attacking dragons again. Her fingers tightened around one of the horns on his neck and he sped up again, making for the south.

"They're going for the chase!" she exclaimed, glancing over her shoulder, but she felt a deep grumble in the dragon's throat.

"Who do you think I am, _Dovakhiin_? I might have recognized your strength, but that does not mean I will succumb to every other _dov_ there is. I was once the right hand of Alduin, second only to him, and the only one who could ever compare to me was Paarthurnax, his own brother. No other dragon will ever match my speed or agility. And besides, I do not plan on letting such _nikriin_ bask in the light of victory."

" _Nikriin_?" Aislinn asked in a confused voice and finally looked around, scanning the land below and feeling her fear being replaced by sudden excitement. She would never get tired of the sight of the snowy mountain tops shining in the sunlight, the rivers which looked like thin ribbons with mirror-like surface, crossing the land rippled by rocks and trees, the birds who soared above it all, but never as high as she did. She loved the feeling of the wind in her face, albeit cold and biting into her skin, and the freedom she felt whenever she could glide its currents. There were no limits up in the sky, no fear and no responsibility. Her life was only hers then.

"The word that most closely describes this would probably be coward," Odaviing explained as he flapped his wings, still gaining speed. " _Dovah_ attacking in numbers? That is a disgrace. They tainted the name of the _dov_."

"No offense, but the dragons don't have a good reputation anyway," Aislinn said with a sheepish smile. She had the feeling that her dragon companion laughed at that, but since she was not sure of how a dragon laugh would sound, she could not be certain.

"So, _Dovakhiin_ , where are we going to?"

"Riften. Or, more precisely, a little south of Riften. There is a cave with a carved stone pillar before its entrance. But I'll need you to wait there for a while. According to the Guardians, there is supposed to be a storm the day after tomorrow. I will need you to fly me somewhere then."

"You will need me to fly you through a _strun_?" Odahviing asked, and it was the first time that Aislinn heard a trace of genuine surprise in a dragon's voice. She assumed the word he used was the equivalent to a storm in the Dragon Language, and so her answer was simple.

"Exactly."

"It is true that you are strong, _Dovakhiin_ , but you still have a _joor_ 's body. Riding a storm is hazardous even to a _dovah_ , but to you, it might prove deadly."

"I trust you, Odahviing," Aislinn said gently. "I really need you to take me through so no enemy of mine notices where I'm headed to."

"Very well," the dragon replied. "But be ready, _Dovakhiin_ , for the storm is not an enemy you can defeat. Not even the strongest of us can. It is the very manifestation of the gods' power, and one of the few things that not even Alduin could conquer. He may be the World-Eater, but he fears the gods just as much as mortals do."

"Isn't that the very reason he _is_ the World-Eater?" Aislinn asked, shrugging in her thoughts as she could not do it while holding onto Odahviing's horns. She looked over her shoulders quickly and noticed that the chasing dragons had turned into a number of small dots somewhere far behind them.

"This thought never occurred to me before, but it is true that I have not had so much time to contemplate it, especially not compared to the likes of Paarthurnax. A year is a very small amount of time to a _dovah_."

Aislinn nodded, not realizing that her current mount could not see the gesture. She threw another quick glance behind and saw nothing of their pursuers, but Odahviing did not slow down, keeping the pace fast and steady. Aislinn felt the wind blow into her face through the gaps in her helmet, and her short hair stuck to it from the inside, spreading into a soft layer. She turned her head, squinting left and right, and noticed that the land below them had changed considerably and soft, rippled clouds had appeared on the south-eastern horizon.

"Are they still chasing us?" she asked.

"Perhaps. They are bound to stop shortly, however. They cannot get too far from Labyrinthian."

"Why not?"

"As I understand it, Alduin gathered them there to gain control. He will not risk another betrayal again. If any of them tries to leave, they will be… dealt with. The Dragon Priests did not have it that different. In the end, they were constricted to a certain area unless they were explicitly told to travel. Now the restrictions are extended to the _dovah_ as well. I do not think this is going to last. We are too proud of a race for this."

"Alduin is just a vengeful spirit at the moment. How could he…"

"He has his ways," Odahviing said and suddenly the tempo of his wings changed. He slowed down considerably, and Aislinn could see the mighty summit of the Throat of the World, slowly passing on her right. The endless woods and groves of pines and birches covering the majority of the Rift filled the land below, the golden color of the birch leaves contrasting the deep green pines. Occasionally, a roof of a house, a tower or a mill replaced them, and in their midst, the glistening trickle of the Treva river traversed them, making its way from Lake Honrich to Lake Geir. The usual white screen of mist covered the city of Riften, only the top of the Mistveil Keep protruded from it in a single line of wood. Odahviing turned toward its south edge where a road ascended to a gentle slope, ending at the mouth of a cave with a carved stone pillar standing before it. He circled the city and landed as softly as a dragon huge as two large buildings could, breaking two birch trunks in the process. Aislinn slid down from his neck and tumbled clumsily upon landing, fighting a buckle on her backpack which snagged on one of the dragon's horns. He turned to her with his head tilted to the side.

"The guards will probably try to hunt me down. We are not exactly on good terms," he told her. "I will have to stay somewhere safe."

"There is a Dragon Mountain just a few swings to the south," she replied, nodding her head in the particular direction. "It should be empty if what you said is true and Alduin really gathered all the dragons in Labyrinthian. If you stay there and return for me two hours before sunrise, it should be enough."

"Then I will see you then," the dragon hummed. " _Lok Thu'um, Dovakhiin._ "

" _Erei un grind, Odahviing._ "

Aislinn watched the great reptile take off, a stream of cold wind blowing in her face and making her blink as the giant wings swung through the air. Then she turned and walked a short distance to the cave. She entered it and walked down the familiar tunnel leading to the Nightingale hall, and a cacophony of voices welcomed her as she stepped into the wide area beneath the narrow passage and took off her helmet.

"Boss!" shouted Vipir the Fleet and jumped to his feet, quickly followed by a few others. Delvin Mallory, seated just beside him, was one of the few who did not stand, although he raised his head and gave Aislinn a scrutinizing look.

"Hello there," she greeted timidly and curled her lips in an almost unnoticeable smile. The bald man raised his eyebrows and so did Vex who appeared behind him, tossing her blonde hair elegantly to her back.

"Well, well, look at this," Delvin drawled, seemingly calm, and took a sip from a mug that lay before him. "Good job, boss, yeh gave all Skyrim a fright of their life, sent the second best thief t' fight dragons in hot pursuit on a bloodthirsty stallion that would scare all of Oblivion out of its foundations had it the chance, an' now yeh appear on the threshold like nuffin' ever happened, wide smile on yer face, and Bryn's nowhere t' be seen. Just what in Oblivion is happening 'ere?"

"Brynjolf should show up soon," Aislinn said. "He's with Lucia, I'm sure he'll take her here."

"The Khajiit say the stallion has been spotted in the Pale, though," Vex objected sharply. Aislinn froze.

"The Pale? What in the name of Nocturnal is he doing there?"

"No idea, boss…"

"I'll kill him. I'll skin that man alive. My daughter is with him!"

"Calm down, boss," Delvin said soothingly. "I'm pretty damn sure Bryn wouldn' put yer daughter in danger. Let's see wha' he's planning t' do."

Aislinn sighed and shook her head, but said nothing. She had a very bad feeling about this. She pinned her eyes to the spot where the water from the waterfall touched the surface of the pool below and inhaled.

"And where is Karliah?" she asked tersely.

"She decided to provide our enemy some quality entertainment," Vex smiled mysteriously. Aislinn raised her brows and gave her a questioning look, but the thief just shrugged.

"So, boss, how's your mission progressing?" Delvin beckoned to an open seat but Aislinn just shook her head and leaned against the closest wall.

"I'm getting there," she replied wearily, "but I still need someone to read the scroll. I'm leaving Skyrim before tomorrow morning."

Even Delvin now jumped to his feet and propped his hands against the table to balance himself. "Leaving Skyrim? Where? Why? How?!"

"I need to find a Moth Priest. I'll fly a dragon."

"Boss, are yeh insane? That's… that's madness! The borders are heavily guarded! Not even a dragon is gonna make it!"

"That's why we'll fly in a storm when no one can spot us."

"A storm?!" several astonished voices exclaimed at once.

"Oh, I really want to see Bryn's face when he learns about this," Vex sang with an angelic smile. Aislinn shot her an annoyed glance.

"That _Bryn_ took my daughter to the Pale," she snarled. "I don't ever want to hear him complaining about my decisions again."

"All right, all right," the blonde retreated, raising her hands in a defensive gesture. "So, is there anything you need us to do, Guildmaster?"

"A lot, actually. I need some normal clothes in which I can hide a dagger, a detailed map of Cyrodiil and as much information as you can give me."

"Boss, yeh want to travel unarmed?"

"I don't have a choice. No one is probably going to expect me in Cyrodiil, but if I am to keep a low profile, I can't swagger there in a full set of daedric armor!"

Delvin let out a resigned sigh. "Guess there's no poin' in arguing with our boss. Let's jus' make it as easy for 'er as we can. I'll give yeh all the maps I can find 'ere. Riften is pretty barren these days, but we could ask ol' Wylandriah to enchant a dress or two. Vex, can yeh go and take care of that?"

"Am I an errand girl now?" complained Vex, knitting her brows. Delvin gave her a reproachful scowl. "Fine, I'm going."

She paced to the exit, waving her arms around her elegantly. Her eyes met Aislinn's as she passed her, and suddenly, shivers ran down the Guildmaster's spine. Regardless of what she did, the blonde never quite seemed to like her, always treating her with cautious respect. Aislinn sighed, but Delvin made her quickly forget Vex's attitude as he approached her and tugged at a protrusion on her daedric armor.

"That said, boss," he spoke to her in a low voice, "I'd like t' talk to yeh abou' a few things."

Aislinn nodded and the two of them made their way to the back of the room and further into the living quarters. Samuel greeted the Guildmaster with a respectful bow and she smiled at him, waving her hand. They entered a bedroom and Delvin lit up a candle, placing it on a wide desk located in one of the remote corners. The last time Aislinn had been here, there had been no desk.

"I made this my temporary office," Delvin explained as he closed the door behind him. He walked across the room, back to the desk, and opened one of its many drawers, swiftly groping about it. "The map should be sum'where 'round 'ere… anyway." He pointed toward one of the beds and Aislinn nodded, seating herself on it comfortably. "Yeh asked me abou' those rotstones… I already sent a message t' Karliah, but I've found out even more since then. They are sumfin' that Mehrunes Dagon gave the elves to defea' yeh, supposedly, and they affect dragon blood. However, they should only affect it when it's connected to a dragon soul. A cer'ain Dunmer who specializes in Daedra studies told me that there's a limit to Dagon's power too. Yeh _should_ be un'ffected, bu' yeh're not. Boss… if yeh don't mind my asking, is there anythin', anythin' at all, that makes yeh different from ordinary 'umans?"

Aislinn furrowed her brows and bent down, cupping her face with the palms of her hands and propping her elbows against her knees. She stared at a dark stain on the wall, reminiscent of an owl's head, and exhaled deeply. "I don't know if I can elaborate on this. I'm… I'm not even sure about the things I know. Something… something happened to me in the past. Something that made me who I am now. But I don't understand it yet. I've seen too little of it."

"Well, it's yer life anyway. It's jus' sumfin' to think of."

"Thank you, Delvin."

"Welcome. Bu' guess what. I go' even more juicy stuff for yeh. This par'icular Dunmer also informed me of a resistance movemen' within the Thalmor ranks. When I was looking for information abou' yer kid that yeh so conveniently saved out of that prison, I came across two guards who weren't so much guards bu' more like secret agents. They kept yer daughter safe and delayed all the information streamin' be'ween Elenwen and 'er lackeys. I think they're dead now, but there're more. Funny thing is, they seem t' have their nest in the Pale. An' guess wha'?"

"Brynjolf's there now."

"Exactly."

"I hope everything goes well then. Do you think he knew?"

"No, I don' think so. It took me a while t' get there myself. I don' s'pose Bryn on the adventurous side would get more information than me."

"Don't tell me your pride would get hurt," Aislinn uttered teasingly and curled her lips in a mischievous smile. Delvin scowled, but quickly hid it under his ever so positively neutral mask of indifference.

"Anyway, boss," he said, as though the previous line had never been spoken, "I'd say that one more thing migh' interest yeh."

"Do share," the Guildmaster encouraged, straightening her back and stretching her arms, which was quite a difficult task, being clad in the heavy daedric armor.

"Now that yeh're going t' Cyrodiil, you might wanna know who provides most of the supplies for the stinkin' elves."

"I suppose they can't manage everything by themselves," Aislinn mused, "and since you're talking about Cyrodiil, let me guess. The East Empire Company?"

"Bingo. Their main headquarters're, of course, in the Imperial Ci'y, which is no' so imperial now that the Emperor's dead." Aislinn frowned and a clutch of guilt tugged at her conscience. "We don' operate much in Cyrodiil, bu' we obviously keep track of things down there. If yeh can ge' there by any chance, do anything yeh can t' cut'em off."

"I'll see what I can do," Aislinn said with a nod.

"Ah, 'ere it is," Delvin smiled triumphantly as he pulled up a number of papers from the drawer. "It's quite large so I had t' spli' it into more pages, bu' it's pretty detailed. 'ere yeh go, boss. Study it carefully."

Aislinn nodded again and Delvin finally excused himself, leaving her to process the flood of information she had been given. She sat at the desk, bending down to take a closer look at the map. Delvin was right, it was quite detailed and elaborate. With this, she could navigate through Cyrodiil with ease – if, of course, something had not changed since this map had been created.

* * *

The hour was nigh when Vex came and woke Aislinn up from her slumber. The Dragonborn sat up slowly, stiff and still weary, but aware that she must leave shortly. All had been prepared in her backpack – the map, fresh supplies, several scrolls if worst came to worst, a spare set of clothes, a pair of enchanted life-draining daggers, and a thin piece of something that was supposedly a bedroll.

 _"_ _It'll keep yeh warm, I'm most sure of that,"_ Delvin had assured her while handing it to her. _"B'sides, it's not so cold in Cyrodiil anyway."_

She looked up at the blonde who was holding a dress in gold and green colors, with several buttons holding it together on both sides. Aislinn frowned, as she found the garment very impractical, and let out a helpless sigh.

"It's what you wanted," Vex said indifferently and shrugged. "At least you don't have to worry about it being ripped. It's enchanted so it can sustain one or two hits. No more though."

"The fact that it's Wylandriah who enchanted it doesn't put me at ease, though," Aislinn commented dryly. "I wouldn't be surprised if that woman self-destructed on her way to 'enlightenment'."

"Don't worry, it has been tested. The same with the other one." Vex nodded toward her Guildmaster's backpack. "The worst that should happen is that the fabric changes its color."

Aislinn raised her brows, shooting Vex a disconcerted glance, but then took the dress from her and put it on. Vex chuckled.

"What?" asked Aislinn with a frown.

"Nothing. I just thought how funny it's going to be when Brynjolf learns that you went to Cyrodiil, riding a dragon in an enchanted dress."

Aislinn gave her a questioning look but no explanation seemed to come out of Vex's mouth. She shook her head and sighed, walking across the room to check the contents of her backpack once more. When everything seemed to be in place, she joined the blonde and they exited the room together, making for the vast hall with the waterfall. Samuel stopped them on their way, waving at Aislinn.

"Hey, boss," he called to her, obviously proud that he could call his Guildmaster _boss_.

"Sam," Aislinn nodded.

"I prepared something for you. I made these myself." He handed her a number of thin, elegant darts, carefully carved out of ebony and soaked in various poisons. "These," he pointed to the ones painted in blue, "are stunning. The red ones inflict pain but don't do too much damage, but the black ones are very deadly."

Aislinn looked at the boy with a troubled look in her eyes. She cursed herself in her thoughts for making him this way, for bringing him up as a thief capable of creating such a weapon.

 _Brynjolf was right,_ she thought to herself bitterly. _I never think things through._

She took the darts from him with a feigned smile and resisted the urge to embrace him.

After a quick meal and a word with Delvin and Vex, she took on a warm coat, waved at her guildmates and left the Nightingale hall, heading to the spot where she and Odahviing had split ways previously. It was still dark and the sky was clouded by a thick blanket of clouds. Occasionally, bright light shone through them as a serpentine line of lightning blinked in the heights. It was starting to rain and thunder roared through the land like a dragon cry, echoing from mountain to mountain. Aislinn shivered.

Now that she had to face the storm, the prospect did not look at all appealing to her. Her imagination played with her and presented thousand possible ways of dying up there, and she did not like either of them. Fortunately, the wind in the treetops and the humming of great dragon wings interrupted the flow of her thoughts. She looked up to face Odahviing who was approaching her slowly.

"We meet again, _Dovakhiin_ ," he greeted.

" _Drem yol lok, Odahviing,_ " she replied and took a few steps backwards to make room for the giant reptile. He landed with a loud thud and crouched so she could access his neck easily.

"My friends from the Guild gave me this." She lifted a set of leather belts, carefully tied together to form a harness. "Could I use it so I don't fall midway through?"

"I must admit I do not like the idea very much," the dragon said, "but do what you must. If it helps you defeat Alduin, I suppose it will be well worth it."

"Thank you, Odahviing," she nodded.

"A _Dovakhiin_ should not thank," he responded. Aislinn took a while to stretch the belts and fasten all the buckles, and in the end, Odahviing looked like a fully domesticated mount. They spent a moment discussing the details before Aislinn finally seated herself on top of his neck, grabbing the temporary reins and attaching her feet to them. Suddenly, she felt uneasy, restricted, and by the nervous jerk of Odahviing's head, she assumed that he felt the same.

"Listen well, Dovakhiin," he spoke then, his voice muffled slightly by the rain growing stronger every second. It did not take long until Aislinn was soaked to the bone, despite the thick coat she wore. "Make sure you always look ahead and read the currents. There is no point in fighting the elements, so we are going to look for those going south and ride them. But there is one thing which could complicate the whole matter. There are bound to be occasional whirlwinds, and once one of them swallows you, there is no telling where and in how many pieces you end up. That said, whenever you see one, hold on tight, for it means we must fight it and enter a different current. I believe you know a ward spell. Save it for the lightning. My scales will protect me, but you _joor_ with your frail bodies need to be shielded."

"All right," said Aislinn, swallowing hard as she tightened her grip around the reins. She was beyond anxious, bud did not let the fear take over her. Never in her life had she planned something so dangerous. Even by her standards, her strategy equaled sheer insanity, and she closed her eyes inadvertently as the dragon carrying her soared to the sky.

 _Bryn, I'm glad you're not here right now,_ she whispered in her thoughts, and suddenly, she had to chuckle to herself. _Bryn. Yeah… just Bryn._

The land grew distant, and the lights from the city of Riften, as well as from the surrounding mills and farms, flickered before Aislinn's eyes for a short moment. Then, a dark grey haze shrouded them and suddenly there was water everywhere. Aislinn had to strain her eyes to be able to see anything, and even so she could not see too far ahead. It had gotten cold and a strong gust of wind made her wince, pushing against her frame. She pressed her body to Odahviing's spine as closely as she could, his sharp thorns blocking her way, and cocked her head to the back so she could watch the path before them. The clouds around them moved surprisingly fast, swirling around and performing their deathly dance. Then there was a collision somewhere below them, and a roaring thunder temporarily deafened both of them. Aislinn gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to cover her ears.

The humming of the pouring water and dashing clouds was strangely quiet, compared to the previous rumble, and it made the Dragonborn even more anxious than before. She squinted ahead, trying to read the current they were riding at the moment. Odahviing's wings kept flapping steadily, paddling the air in a swift but composed pace. The dragon seemed calm, cautiously looking around without moving his head ever so slightly, taking the path of least resistance while using his tail as a rudder.

A sharper sound came from ahead and it took Aislinn only a split second to realize that the swirling particles in the clouds made to crash against each other. It was the exact same thing as she had explained Lucia before, and now she had to react to it swiftly as a crooked line of lightning appeared and pounced upon her. She quickly put up a ward, immediately shattered as the energy touched it, but it was enough to keep her safe. Aislinn panted and grabbed the reins again, just in time to avoid being tossed to the side. Odahviing took a sudden turn to the right and she immediately understood why.

A giant vortex spread before them, sucking in whatever came to its way. The closer they came, the stronger the wind blew, and Aislinn could imagine that it could as well tear her body apart. She pressed closer to Odahviing's body, ignoring the pain from the sharp protrusions on his back, and gasped as a fresh flood of water poured over her, blinding her eyes momentarily. The wind kept whistling in her ears and she shivered in the cold, and everything worsened even further when her mount sped up and penetrated the wind wall before them. Everything was thrown into chaos and Aislinn winced when another bolt of lightning missed her by inches. Suddenly she started praying for her life.

Odahviing turned again and joined a current. For a moment, everything was quiet. And then Odahviing Shouted.

 _"_ _Yol Toor Shul!"_ his mighty voice roared through the air. A cone of flames sprung from his lungs and darted forward.

"What are you doing?!" Aislinn yelled, trying to make herself heard over the storm. A lightning bolt struck the area just before them and she closed her eyes.

"Directing the lightning, as you can see," he answered.

 _Heating up the air before us so the lightning strikes sooner,_ she realized as she stared forward, blinking wildly when a stream of water and ice shards attacked her eyes.

The current delivered them to another whirlwind and once again, Odahviing took a few sharp turns to eschew being swallowed alive. This time, Aislinn did not manage to raise a ward and the lightning struck her with its full force. She gasped and squeezed the reins as the protective magic of her dress deflected the bolt.

"Great," she murmured to herself. "That's one down. Hopefully just one."

Soon she stopped feeling her own fingers, trembling furiously in the cold, praying for the wild journey to be finally over. She was not sure how long she would be able to last, but then she suddenly heard Odahviing's voice, and it sounded strangely distant to her.

"We are approaching your destination, _Dovakhiin_ ," he informed her. "Be ready when I tell you to let go."

"All right," Aislinn breathed wearily and pulled a dagger out of her shoe, careful not to injure herself as it was fastened tightly. She quickly cut the stirrup leather and felt her feet come loose. A part of her reveled in the sudden freedom while the other one shivered in fear. She grabbed the reins in hurry and waited. A strong blast of wind almost swept her down from the dragon's back, but she held on to him tight. At last, he called to her again.

"We are here, _Dovakhiin_. Now is your time. I will meet you down there in exactly seven days."

"Then I'm going, Odahviing. Take care." She took a deep breath. _"Feim Zii Gron!"_

And with that, she jumped.

The flight was terrifying. A current of wind took over her and made her go in circles, shaking her wildly. A roof tile flew directly through her head, and then she felt the Shout wearing off.

 _Please…_ she begged in her mind. _Please!_

Just before turning solid again, her body touched the top of an oak tree. She cried out in pain as the branches whipped her, exhausting the enchantment of the dress immediately. Fortunately, they slowed her fall just enough to land in relative safety, only covered in few scratches and bruises. She exhaled shakily and fell to her knees, burying her face in her palms.

When she finally dared to raise her head and look around, the rain had turned into a mild drizzle and several blots of blue showed through the clouds. She was in a grove of pine and oak trees, sitting on the ground covered in a thick blanket of withered leaves and needles, and before her stretched a road leading to a gate in a massive stone wall surrounding a city. Only the sharp silhouette of the local chapel loomed over it, proudly displaying itself to her eyes. There was no mistaking it. She was standing at the threshold to the city of Bruma.

* * *

 _Sooo much studying for this chapter. Seriously, the maps, the landscape, the language, everything took a lot of effort. But in the end, I think it's worth it. And so, ladies and gentlemen, that long night which lasted seven chapters is finally over (have you even noticed?). And our Aislinn arrived to Cyrodiil, so we're back to Oblivion! :D_

 _Now I'm really, really looking forward to what you have to say about it. That said, I got some really awesome comments from you on the last chapter – and on some of the previous ones too!_

 _Sister Nightingale:_ _Thank you very much for your comment! Now that you mention it, you're right! I haven't thought about it, but it does feel like the Department of Mysteries. Hmm, seems I'm easily influenced. :D  
And, of course, thank you for your kind words, they were really encouraging!_

 _Pietersielie:_ _You're not completely wrong, but I think it will still take a while. Well, you've seen it yourself. As always, thanks a lot for your lovely review!_

 _Twillin:_ _Well, what should I say? More Aislinn, yep. Looking forward to your reaction and thank you, as always. :)_

 _Jakeice10:_ _Wow, thank you so much! So much admiration, now I really have to try my absolute best!_

 _An Anonymoose:_ _Don't be sad. As you can see, I couldn't get rid of Paarthurnax completely. I love him too much for that! :D  
Thank you very much for your comment, I hope you like the story. :)_

 _Also, many thanks to everyone who favorited and followed. You guys are making little meerkat happy. :)_

 _And, as always, thanks to dart for the beta. He's always there, guys._

 _So that's all from me today._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	35. Into the Dark

**Chapter 35: Into the Dark**

The roaring of the river just a few hundred feet away echoed through the air, interrupted occasionally by a silent moan, barely audible in the noise. If Karliah was standing slightly further from its source, she would not be able to hear it, even with her sharp, elven senses. She frowned. A few Dunmer were lying on the ground just a few feet away from the nook where she was hiding, bleeding, their limbs twisted into very unnatural positions. Above them were standing several Thalmor representatives, each of them holding a sturdy studded club. _Sure,_ she thought to herself, _for some things, these are way more effective than the sharpest swords you can get. What a hideous bunch of creatures._

There was no way she would ever call the orthodox Thalmor 'elves'. She absolutely refused putting herself together with the likes of them. Then again, she remembered how much she had to stain her hands when escaping from Mercer Frey and the Thieves Guild under his command. Maybe she wasn't that different after all.

One of the standing Altmer raised his club and smashed it against an ebony-skinned leg. A dark elf screamed, the echo of his sharp voice resounding in Karliah's head, hammering at her senses. She bit her lip and squeezed the hilt of a dagger she was carrying, holding her breath as she watched.

 _No,_ she reminded herself for the hundredth time, _you can't save them. You mustn't. Otherwise they might be the last ones you ever save._

"Come on, filth," a high elf said, his voice but a mere whisper, and yet perfectly audible to everyone, including Karliah. "One word and you can end this."

The thief knit her eyebrows. She had no idea what they were talking about, but it seemed that the Thalmor were trying to extract some kind of information from the Dunmer. She strained her ears, holding her breath in order to catch the conversation which might prove essential.

One of the Dunmer, a man with black hair tied up in a long ponytail and a strange tattoo on his left forearm, spat at the interrogator and topped his gesture off with a loud snort. A well-aimed kick in the stomach made him cough and hiss in pain, but the man kept his rebellious stance. Karliah's eyes focused on his tattoo for a while and she tilted her head to the side curiously. Undeniably, it was shaped as the symbol of Talos. She wondered if the Dunmer wore it just out of spite for the usurpers, but it somehow made her curl her lips into a mild smile. This was one of the strangest things she had ever seen.

"She's somewhere in the city," the Altmer snarled and pulled out a dagger. "Speak and you don't have to suffer." The tip of the dagger buried itself slightly in the Dunmer's sole and made a few small circles. The dark elf screamed in pain. Karliah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The Thalmor was obviously skilled in torture. Not many people knew the pressure points on the feet well enough to be able to cause such pain throughout the whole body. Shivers ran down her spine when she imagined the terrifying elf playing with his victims for months without killing them, only breaking them down skillfully. The nails on her fingers cut into the flesh on her fists. She _had_ to do something.

"Please, stop!" a Dunmer woman with grey hair and withered skin pleaded. Her glistening deep red eyes were the only proof that she was alive. "Our leader never told us where she hides. She had a good reason not to."

"You're lying."

Another Altmer man tapped the interrogator's shoulder. They exchanged a few words which Karliah did not understand as they were spoken in the older version of Altmeri language. She frowned and then gasped when the interrogator grunted angrily and smashed his club against the woman's upper arm. She cried out and so did her tattooed companion. Karliah gritted her teeth and stood up. She would not stand this any longer.

She took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"They really don't know anything," she said, calm on the outside while deep inside she trembled in fright. "I, however, can lead you to her."

"And you are?" the Altmer asked with a raised eyebrow, one hand still gripping the club while the other one squeezed the hilt of his dagger.

"Tarjah," she replied without hesitation. "Her secret right hand. At least that's what _she_ thinks."

Karliah's conscious was screaming at her. She had no idea what she was doing.

"Oh?" the man drawled. "And can you prove it?"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Let's see… how about killing this filth here?"

Karliah turned to the lying Dunmer, concealing her horror behind the impenetrable mask of indifference. At least she would let them die fast. No better fate would have awaited them anyway.

The Dunmer woman looked at her with a mixture of pain and plea in her eyes. There were four of them in total, all lying on the ground helplessly. The thought made her sick. The woman closed her eyes slowly and opened them again, and for some inexplicable reason, a scenery of withered trees, falling dead leaves and vast wasteland of nothing but death flashed through Karliah's mind. The spark in the woman's eyes died slowly. She was giving up, begging the thief to end her life. Karliah stepped forward.

"I'm sorry," she articulated voicelessly with her back to the Altmer. The woman's eyes widened.

"Farenhel!" she cried suddenly and the sound tore Karliah's heart apart. "Please, don't kill him! Don't kill Farenhel! Somebody save him!" The man beside her rose on his elbows heavily and covered her mouth.

"He'll be fine, so just shut up!" he hissed.

Karliah hesitated for a short moment before articulating "I won't." Then she pulled out a dagger and stabbed the powerless dark elves one after another right into the heart. The Altmer behind her laughed savagely and she secretly gritted her teeth again.

"Good girl," the interrogator said affectedly. "Now you're going to lead us to her and _maybe_ we'll let you live."

"I'm on _your_ side!" she retorted, careful to put exactly the right amount of disconcert into the statement. The Altmer laughed dryly.

"We'll see about that," he replied and the thief shuddered at the almost tangible feeling of contempt in his voice. "I'll hold onto this for a while." He grabbed the dagger she had been holding, twisting her hand slightly to express dominance. Handing it to his companions, he took Karliah's bow and all the visible weapons she carried. Then he examined Karliah thoroughly, making sure he had not missed anything. Karliah smiled to herself as the secret place where she hid a dagger, small enough to fit under her foot, was left unnoticed. So far, the plan worked perfectly. With the exception of several unlucky victims whom she might have at least saved from suffering. And if she's lucky, she might not even need the dagger.

"Do you know where Calixto's old house is?" she asked in a colorless voice.

"Calixto? Is he a citizen?"

"Was."

"Not on the list then. In that case, naturally, we wouldn't know where his house is. Do lead us there. Just try to avoid doing anything funny, or my hand might just… slip." The elf caressed the hilt of his dagger lovingly and Karliah shuddered. She walked towards the city, purposely stepping on the loose cobblestones in the paving and making slightly more noise than she was used to. They didn't need to know she was a trained thief.

They entered Windhelm through the east gate which Karliah found quite convenient. Calixto's house was just around the corner, and she knew well that it would be empty. No one dared approach that place ever since Aislinn had uncovered the murders its owner had committed. There were talks among the city folk about her and how she unscrupulously purchased Hjerim, the place where he had been conducting his wicked rituals, and decided to live there without a second thought. Some admired her for it, some denounced her, but there was no one who thought nothing of it. The local priest of Arkay had offered to make her a purging ceremony, but as far as Karliah was concerned, Aislinn had just waved her hand, laughing it off with a mocking comment about superstitious people. For a woman who encountered draugr and Dragon Priests on daily basis, Karliah thought she sure was a brave one. Or foolish, if there ever was a difference.

Karliah suppressed a shrug and led the party to the left, toward the deserted house. She could not help but wonder why all the empty buildings withered so quickly. It looked tens of years older than the surrounding houses, some of the stones missing from the ragged walls, while others had been scratched by the tiles which had fallen onto them from the roof and now lay broken on the ground beneath them. The loft beams were starting to rot, and splinters stuck out of them occasionally.

She turned to the group of high elves following her closely in tow, the interrogator still holding his dagger at the ready. She knew he watched her every movement and frowned inwardly. This would be the most difficult part of her plan and she had to make sure his attention was turned elsewhere when she was about to execute it.

"This is it," she said. "I doubt it's open though."

"Try it," the order came firmly. "No funny movements."

Karliah turned back to the house and grabbed the door handle. The massive wooden wing wouldn't budge an inch. She looked at the elves with a hint of feigned despair in her face.

"Let me see," the Altmer grunted impatiently and took a step forward. He studied the lock for a while and then gave up with a shrug. "We don't have time for this," he shook his head and the next moment, a small sphere of fire shot out of his hand. After repeating the process several times, a large hole, enough for a man to fit in, was formed in the wood. With a smirk, he grabbed Karliah's shoulders and shoved her inside. She staggered slightly before gaining support by grabbing the beam holding the stairs on her left. The man behind her paused and took a close look at the place before following her inside.

Karliah pointed a shaky finger at the room to her right. She was shoved again and barely managed to stay on her feet this time, bumping into one of the innumerous crates which now filled the room and blocked the passage to the bed. She waited for the elves to gather around her and pointed to a chest at the back of the room.

"There it is," she announced. The Thalmor turned their attention to the dark corner where the chest lay for a moment, and in that very split second, several things happened.

With the words "Nocturnal preserve me," Karliah jumped back to the door, grabbing a dagger attached to one of the elves' waist. The Nightingale Subterfuge, the skill that she had chosen as a reward from Nocturnal during her last visit to the Twilight Sepulcher, activated and all the Altmer went into frenzy, attacking each other while unable to break free from the spell. She quickly used the opportunity to slay them before they made too much noise and someone else noticed it. Soon, the elves lay there on a pile. Karliah searched their bodies for possible weapons and scrolls. To her satisfaction, she found a flare scroll which she immediately used to burn them. Soon, she was walking the streets of Windhelm with a set of scrolls, soul gems and other useful trinkets, and no other indicator than the burnt front door showed that something had happened in the former House of Curiosities. She had placed several vials around it, trying to make it seem as though one of those "curiosities" exploded there. It would take the usurpers quite some time to decipher what had really happened there, and by then, there should be a number of other things occupying them.

The thief moved through the city sneakily, peeking behind every corner, studying every crevice so she would not be discovered. She had left her bow and most of her belongings hidden behind Calixto's house, only keeping a well-hidden pair of daggers and other small things which were not visible at first sight. She was unsure, however, if there was some kind of dress code ordered by the Thalmor, and judging by the notable absence of dark elves in the streets, their freedom was probably quite limited. She had decided against taking risks, and so she used every thief trick she could think of to go undetected.

Her destination appeared before her in a just a few moments. She scanned the ragged façade of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, stopping at the frayed banners and massive stone pillars before the entrance. The detect life spell that she cast indicated no other presence whatsoever. Silently she crept to the door and opened it ajar, examining the situation. The place was quasi empty, quiet, dark gloom spreading all around. It was not the lively inn she remembered it to be, though the bartender was definitely the same.

Ambarys Rendar stood with his elbows propped against the counter, staring absentmindedly at a candle on one of the tables. Karliah spotted an ugly scar stretching from the left side of his chin up to his left temple. His eyes were glassy and his linen clothing ripped at several places. Dark stains covered most of its surface and Karliah was sure they weren't caused by spilt wine. She quickly crawled inside and shut the door behind her as quietly as she could. Carefully she cast the detect life spell again to make sure no one was watching and then stood up. Ambarys raised his head slowly, staring at her for a moment before his eyes widened in surprise.

"You," he whispered hoarsely. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm…" Karliah hesitated. "I'm looking for someone called Farenhel."

The bartender gave her a scrutinizing look.

"Don't expect any help from me," he replied at last. "An armed person, here in Windehlm? Naturally, you'd work for those s'wit. How many times have I told you I'm not going to tell you anything?"

"Why are you here?" Karliah asked.

"What do you mean, why I'm here?! This is _my_ house! Yes, even without customers, it's still my house! Now get out of here before I get you out myself. Permanently."

Karliah took a few steps toward the counter and looked the man into the eye. "There were four of them," she said quietly. "Four Dunmer at the mercy of several Thalmor officials. I overheard their conversation; the Thalmor were apparently looking for their leader. I stepped in, pretending to be their ally who happens to know where the leader is. One of the dark elves, an old woman, told me then to 'save Farenhel'. Care to elaborate?"

The Dunmer watched her doubtfully. "Where are they?"

"The torturers, or the Dunmer?"

"Both."

"Dead. The Dunmer's bodies are at the docks. You won't be able to find the Thalmor. I lured them into Calixto's house and burned their corpses."

There was a grave look in his eyes. He exhaled deeply and shifted his weight, staring into the tiny flame of the candle again.

"It's not safe here," he told her quietly. "There's a possibility we're being spied on."

"I checked."

"Nevertheless," his voice now turned into a mere whisper, "it's not safe here. At seven in the evening, the guards in the city all change patrols. Look for this symbol." He drew a strange set of squares with common central point, the corners of the inner ones touching the sides of the outer ones, onto the counter using a piece of charcoal. He quickly erased it again the moment Karliah's eyes turned away from it. "You'll find what you're looking for."

"I don't have time," she pressed.

"We're doing what we can here. I'm only allowed to be here so they can spy on me and gain information. I'm not gonna let them have the pleasure."

Karliah leaned over the counter and their faces almost touched. "The armies of Whiterun and Riften will be here soon. I need to learn as much as I can before they start the siege."

"Somebody's going to save us?"

"If you cooperate."

"Right," he nodded. His eyes wandered around for a moment, glancing timorously from one corner to another. "Farenhel is not a person. It's a codename for a house."

Karliah furrowed her brows. "Faren… hel… the pale one's den?"

"Well, she's not exactly a _dark_ elf. But she gives us hope. She always has…"

"Nir—"

"Shhh!"

The thief nodded. "Thank you," she said. "I'll make it worth the risk."

"Go," the bartender urged her. "May Azura protect you."

Karliah gave him a pensive smile and headed back to the door. It was time to visit an old friend.

* * *

The cold wind rippled Farkhali's dark fur and she shivered. Her eyes were open ajar, gazing upon the dark horizon. A storm was raging on the south-east edge of Skyrim, vast enough to overhang beyond its borders and into the Falkreath hold. Quite a few people in Riften must be experiencing a sleepless night. For a moment, she had the feeling she saw the dark, jagged silhouette of a dragon against the lightning which set the skies ablaze, but it could have been a cloud, or her imagination was pulling a prank on her senses. Nonetheless, the sight made her shudder. She shook her head and turned her attention to the road which spanned before her.

She was standing at the borderline dividing three holds – The Reach, Whiterun and Falkreath. If it weren't for the plains spanning far and wide, this would have been a good strategic point. The leveled ground, however, made it easy to siege, and not even the Dwemer could tame the rocks in the mountains behind her. The people of nearby Rorikstead led a harsh life full of hard work without being able to leave their fields unattended, never setting foot further than a few miles away from their farms, and even then it was usually to hunt or provide food from some outer source. They barely even visited Whiterun, the capital of their hold, relying on couriers and travelers to take care of whatever they might need there. Shivers ran down Farkhali's spine when she imagined herself being tied to a small piece of land, with no freedom whatsoever.

She made for east, heading to Whiterun. Under different circumstances, she would have considered staying at the Lakeview Manor for a while, but given the situation, it was out of question that she allow herself a single break. The city of Whiterun was in grave danger and she was determined to protect it. Why she had stepped out of her comfort zone to fight for a whole city? She did not know, though every time she thought about it, Balgruuf's face appeared before her eyes, as if he was really there, following her every footstep.

"Damn those blasted marble eyes of his," she grunted silently. She leapt quietly between the shadows like the cat she was, searching for rocks and bushes to cover her. The night was coming to an end, but the storm hid the rising sun completely, making it easier for her to conceal her presence. She had little reason to hide though, as not a single elf seemed to favor walking outside in such a hideous night. It was the kind of night when the damp chill in the air crept under your skin and made you tremble with cold, and not even Farkhali's thick velvet fur was enough to stop it. She saw a pair of skeletons guarding Gjukar's Monument which she was passing, but they paid her no attention and she decided to do the same. For a single moment, it seemed like there was something else beside the skeletons, a strange, shapeless figure, but whatever it was, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

An hour or so had passed when the dark silhouette of Fort Greymoor appeared on the horizon, but before Farkhali could take another step, she noticed movement on her right. She crouched beneath a rock and cloaked herself in shadow completely, studying the land to the south. A single body moved in the bushes, heading for Falkreath, and judging by the elegant, stealthy jumps and the posture bent slightly forward, balanced by a long tail, she assumed it was a Khajiit. The figure was cloaked and clad in light armor which Farkhali could not identify, hurrying to the south-east as though their life depended on it. And maybe it did, Farkhali thought to herself.

For a reason she could not quite understand herself, she decided to follow the stranger. She just somehow had the feeling they had something to do with what was happening in Whiterun, and after a quick consideration, she came to the conclusion that the detour will be worth it. Quietly she circled the rock and crawled behind the figure, keeping enough distance to remain unnoticed. The further they went, the easier it was to hide, for they entered the woods of the Falkreath hold after not so long and the trees offered beautiful lines of shadows to blend in.

White mist covered them after a while and Farkhali had to pay extra attention to keep track of the stranger's movement. Luckily, they more or less kept along the road to Falkreath. The humidity thickened and she could hear the silent splashing of the water in the lake to her left. The Lakeview Manor was very close, and for a while, she wondered about the state of the now abandoned house.

The stranger's pace quickened and Farkhali added a little bit of magic to her shadow step, muffling the sound of her footsteps. She was quite sure the Khajiit before her did the same, as she barely heard the sound of their feet touching the ground. They started climbing the slope ascending from the lake, passing a giant without providing the chance for it to notice them. A moose crossed their path and ran away quickly upon noticing them. The stranger paused for a moment and Farkhali had to press herself to a tree trunk. The cloaked figure straightened their back and looked around as though they were searching for something. Then the stranger nodded and took a path to the south.

They passed the Falkreath watchtower, surrounded by tall pine trees whose shadow Farkhali found quite soothing, and proceeded in the way of the hold capital. A number of tents emerged from the mist after a few moments and Farkhali could see the black and gold of the Thalmor banners. She scowled sourly and watched the Khajiit attentively, hiding behind a thick bush. The figure stopped before the camp and released a ball of magical light. An elf, clad in glass armor, his face hidden almost completely under his helmet, approached them with a greeting, raising a silver cup he was holding in his hand.

"Ah, our errand boy returns," he drawled. "So what's the news?"

The "errand boy" pointed at the cup, drawing an imaginary circle with his fingers. "Smells like Cyrodillic brandy. Where'd the high one get it?"

"Ah, this? Helgen. We made quite some use of the place."

Farkhali made a mental note to send someone to Helgen as soon as possible.

"This one would be very pleased to have a taste."

"Really now? Well, tell me the details and I _might_ consider giving you a drop. Where'd you come from anyway?"

The Khajiit pointed north-west, in the direction of Farkhali's hideout. It looked like a flashy gesture, as though he was bragging about it.

"And how many days did it take you?"

"Just one," he said. Farkhali shuddered. What was wrong with that conversation? It sounded like they were purposely hiding something, avoiding the subject, as if they were talking in ciphers.

"And?"

"I swear on my fur, it was quite an adventure…"

"Just get to the point."

"Ah, by Nocturnal, patience, my friend…"

"Give me some good news and maybe, just maybe I'll forgive you for calling me a _friend_ ," the elf hissed.

"We've got a dragon on the loose. But luckily, a great lizard followed it."

 _A dragon on the loose?_ No matter how much Farkhali thought about it, the conversation did not make sense to her. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling slight uneasiness, and took a deep breath to help her concentrate. The elf's lips, barely visible from under the helmet, curled in an ice-cold smile when the Khajiit waved his tail playfully. She furrowed her brows. The tip of the tail was pointing to a rock standing aloof, as though it was gesturing…

 _Gesturing?_ Farkhali asked herself. Of course. Every line that Khajiit had said was accompanied by a gesture. A secret code where everything had been said. The first gesture for an enemy, the word _one_ to tell their number, fur for a Khajiit, Nocturnal for a thief… everything had been conveyed. Her heart skipped a beat.

She slowly turned her eyes to the rock the Khajiit's tail was pointing to and there, underneath the branches of a nearby tree, she spotted a presence. It was barely visible, as though someone had painted the pattern of the surrounding rocks and leaves on its surface, but she was sure something moved there ever so slightly. And there was only one person who could have concealed themselves this way.

Farkhali's felt her heart sink. The Khajiit before her beat her at her own game. They knew she was there, and they were obviously enjoying the moment of her realization, waiting for her to take the first step. Sure, they had time. There were three of them against one, including her sneaky Argonian nemesis who, to Farkhali's great concern, was able to keep up with her and without revealing her presence the entire time, and an extraordinarily perceptive Khajiit who was also an exquisite actor, most probably with a generous portion of intelligence.

Would it be safe to retreat? Would they notice? They probably would, since the Khajiit knew about her all along. He knew exactly where she was. But it was still the only option she could think of and she decided to give it a try. She located the closest shadow behind her, moved to it—

And suddenly, she was surrounded by flames and all the shadows were gone. A throwing dagger whizzed past her, missing her cheek by an inch. She turned around to face her enemies. The Hunter was looking right at her, her mouth twisted into a sly grin.

"Let her be," she purred to the others. "This one is _mine_."

Farkhali looked around frantically. This was a nightmare. There was light… light _everywhere_ , burning her eyes, taking away her safety and freedom, stinging, scorching, flickering in a deathly dance. There was no escape, no shadows to slip through.

"Payback time, Malkin," the Argonian said with a sweet smile. She pulled a wand out of her shoe and spun it around her fingers.

"Oh, don't tell me you're holding a grudge against me for what happened last time," Farkhali drawled with a sneer. "That would make me very sad."

"Grudge?" the Hunter laughed. "Let's just say I don't like having unfinished business."

"Too bad," Farkhali sighed theatrically. "I was looking forward to becoming your friend." She pulled out her dagger and crouched, ready to charge at her opponent. She wasn't given a chance.

The wand waved before her and the light around her intensified. Suddenly, the world around her changed. She was drowning. She was floating in the air, enclosed by a ball of light which shone through her. There was nowhere to hide, no place for a single inch of shadow. Not even on her body. Her flesh was burning and she could smell the stench of her charred fur. The glow was eating her away, painting her fur white, blinding her, taking everything from her, little by little. Then she felt her body stiffen.

 _I can't move,_ she thought with despair. Her usually calm mind was panicking. In such a short time, she felt the pain of losing everything she had. The wicked Argonian had uncovered her weakness and used it against her without the slightest hesitation. She had underestimated her. Balgruuf's face appeared before her again. She _must_ save the city!

Her body fell to the ground with a thud. Sharp pain spread from her right hip and then her body tingled, slowly losing the sense of touch. The image before her eyes changed back to the misty woods of the Falkreath hold. She lay in a circle of scorched ground and an Argonian in a strange, shapeless armor of indistinct color stood in her view. She came closer so Farkhali could only see her feet. Then, suddenly, one of those feet lunged towards her and the view blurred, fading into dark nothingness.

* * *

 _I am so very, very sorry for the extremely late update! A lot of you sent me awesome reviews and I was really happy to read them, so I thought just before Christmas that I really should reward you with a chapter. But there it was, two months of studying for exams, getting close to a complete breakdown, laying down with tonsillitis again… marvelous times, marvelous times indeed._ Mimics Sheogorath. _But I really haven't forgotten about you._

 _I think I really forgot how to write. If this chapter seems sloppy to you, I apologize. It will get better, I promise. I'm making big plans for the following chapter, so you definitely have something to look forward to._

 _By the way, the name "Farenhel" – I made it up. The Dunmeri language reference that you can find on the internet is really not all that extensive so I kind of had to. Oh well. I hope you don't mind. :D_

 _Jakeice10:_ _As always, thank you for your nice and encouraging comments! I'm glad that you get absorbed by the atmosphere, it makes me feel like I'm taking the story where it's supposed to go. :)_

 _dart0808:_ _I'd like to see you carry thousands of brooms. Could be fun. :D_

 _Twillin:_ _Now that you say it… it is pretty funny. Uhm. By the way, Aislinn has this strange habit of changing armors/dresses throughout the story… I think she might need to do it again very soon. :D Thank you for the awesome review – and for your endless supply of fun. :D_

 _Pietersielie:_ _I think the reason for going to Cyrodiil was actually mentioned there before, but you'll see soon enough. Thank you for the beautiful review!_

 _Guest:_ _Glad that you liked it. I wonder if it's physically correct though… but oh well, I'm writing a fantasy. I guess a dragon isn't physically correct at all. :D Thank you for the awesome review as well. ^^_

 _As always, thanks to dart for taking the time to edit the chapter. Hopefully you like it. I'll try to have the next update done sooner._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	36. The Thief Who Seized a Thief

**Chapter 36: The Thief Who Seized a Thief**

"Ardy! Hey, Ardy!" a sharp voice cut through the air like a razor through a piece of paper. A slightly immature voice of a young man, high pitched, vivid, rich in color and full of energy, sending vibrations through everything around, almost rippling the air with its intensity. "Someone just sneaked into the city!"

The man was running along the wall of Castle Bruma, his light brown hair waving around his head, directing his fast steps towards a Nord man in a dark, sleeveless leather jacket and a pair of trousers of the same material, both sticking to his body as though he was wearing a second skin. Along with the extensively studded tall boots rising along his calves and shins up to his knees, his attire seemed quite comfortable, allowing him to perform any kind of movement he wished while protecting him from cold and blade at the same time. His back straightened the moment he heard the voice behind him, and the whetstone he had been using to sharpen his dark dagger slowly ceased its spinning. A pair of attentive turquoise eyes rested on the newcomer for just a moment, a short lull before the Nord's eyebrows, black as coal just as his hair, knit together to form an almost perfect sharp pointed arrow.

"Well great, will you shut your gap now?" he snarled at the youngster hoarsely.

"But Ardy, are you listening to me?"

"Aye, I'm listening, you piece of looney daedroth! Someone sneaked into the city, awesome. Now go and shout it from the rooftops so everyone, including that person, knows it." The Nord failed to contain a snort, shaking his head so the two thin braids which he wore at the back of his head, far longer than the rest of his hair, fluttered around him wildly.

The young man took a step back and lowered his head in apology. "Sorry," he muttered, though there was no apparent repentance in the tone of his voice.

"So?" the Nord asked while wiping his dagger on his trousers. He raised the blade to his eye's level and admired the shining line of gold formed on its smooth surface by the rising sun, smacking his lips in satisfaction. "Who is it?"

"A woman. In a dress. I can't tell you more, I only caught a glimpse of her," the young man said, seating himself on a workbench, ignoring his companion's raised brow and his expensive raiment cloaking him in a veil of deep blue, lined at its rims with gold.

"A woman, okay. But in a dress? If I didn't know you, I'd say you've had your share of skooma."

"A knight would _never_ —"

"…stoop to such lowly practices, of course," the Nord scoffed. "You and your knightly pride."

"You and your sneaking," the youngster returned, narrowing one eye and screwing his face to form a scornful grimace just for effect.

"Well, honor won't save your arse. Sneaking will."

"And it can get you into jail just as easily."

"Well then," the Nord said and sheathed the dagger carefully, attaching it to his waist while ignoring that last remark, "let's see what this lady in the dress wants here." A simple silver ring, apparently enchanted, glistened on his hand as he removed it from the hilt.

"You're going to just let her sneak around?"

"Dear Tye," the black-haired man smirked conspiratorially, placing his arm around the youngster's shoulders, "if we did it your way, we would never get the chance to unravel her real intentions. You need to let your prey think they're in absolute control of the situation until the very end. Remember you must know the ways of your enemy before striking."

"That seems cowardly and unjust," Tye grunted as his companion steered him towards a nook in the castle wall.

"Well, life is not fair, my friend," the Nord sighed with a feigned bitterness in his voice. "Now take this," he deposited a few vials of a dark swirling liquid from the depths of his pockets, "and follow me."

Tye took the flasks, turning one of them around in his hand carefully, his gaze following the viscous fluid rolling around lazily. "Please, tell me it's not what I think it is."

The smile on the Nord's face was bright and wide, his white teeth almost blinding to the helpless knight. "You better drain it in one go before you choke on it again."

The youngster groaned.

The two of them each downed a bottle in a few gulps, the younger one shaking in disgust. The Nord chuckled, watching the sour grimace on his friend's face as though he had just eaten a pickled netch. His face faded slowly until there was nothing more than slightly rippled air. They set out, the magical effect of the potion they had drunk muffling their footsteps. Careful not to collide with any passersby, which was not at all difficult as there weren't many, they sneaked through the main gate of the outer castle wall and found themselves on the massive stone ridge which loomed over the lower parts of the city. The Nord cast a quick detect life spell, revealing every presence within the radius of thousand feet as the ring on his finger vibrated with energy, amplifying the spell. His bright eyes scanned the myriad of glowing lights that appeared before him, studying their movement, calculating their location and exact position. He then nodded and decided to follow the light that moved slightly faster and less confidently than the others in the city, currently roaming the area behind the Great Chapel of Talos.

"I think I found her," he breathed to his companion and nudged his forearm lightly, leading him down the stone steps which descended from the ledge.

"How?" Tye asked, failing to conceal the amazement in his voice.

"Oh, I have my ways," he snickered mysteriously.

"I guess spotting details has always been your strong point," Tye whispered reverently.

"While yours is looking at the big picture," the Nord said, patting his friend on the shoulder.

Upon entering the second lowest part of Bruma, right by the massive walls protecting the city, both of them took another sip of the magical potion and proceeded among the many wooden houses which cast elongated shadows on the ground. The night had been rough, but both of them reveled in the following morning, when the breeze was cold and refreshing and the rising sun dyed the timbers of the houses warm gold. Their prey was currently circling one of the shacks behind the chapel as though she was studying the place.

 _Which might as well be the case,_ the Nord thought to himself.

The two of them quickly passed the former building of the Mages Guild, now reconstructed and serving as new headquarters to the Synod (not that the Nords of Bruma welcomed the curious, secretive group of mages), and the Fighters Guild, which had turned into a huge tavern where everyone would meet in the evening and chatter about their day or brawl with the local warriors and thugs. The grand building of the Great Chapel of Talos emerged before them with its shattered windows, dark stains covering a considerable part of it, as though it was partially built in brimstone. The recent battles with the sieging Thalmor took their toll on Bruma. Fortunately, the citizens were not ready to give up, with him and Tye being no exceptions.

They rounded the chapel and the scorched remains of the shack right behind it, with singed logs and beams sticking up like large prickles waiting for someone to fall from the sky only to become a pincushion. One more gulp of the potion and the two of them found themselves on a small plaza where the road through the city circled the shack and the chapel. On the other side of it, a continuous line of small houses spanned along it, and a few people were gathered there, having a conversation about recent events. The Nord recognized Brelog, the local drunk, and Alma, an elderly woman whose tales never got boring, but people rarely believed any of them were true. Another person joined them instantly, Jarreth, the only Dunmer in the city. And in between two shacks on the other side of the road, a person was hiding, listening to their chattering.

"I'm… tellin' ya," Brelog mumbled, "they're gonna come right back at us. The stinkin' pointy ears're gonna come back." The dark elf grimaced at the expression 'pointy ears'.

"Well, even a troll could figure that out," Jarreth sneered. "They have all Cyrodiil under their thumb. And not just Cyrodiil."

"The question is, what are we gonna do?" Alma asked, looking more at the freshly arrived Jarreth than the slightly rounded Brelog who kept rubbing his semi-bald head and bouncing back and forth. "I heard a tale, you know…"

"Oh, not another one…"

"…about dragons. It seems there's a dragon war up in Skyrim, claws against claws, fire on ice and ice on fire. They create storms and whirlwinds and once you get caught up in one of their fights, chances of survival are close to none. Do you think they're gonna come here too? Can a dragon be tamed and used to fight against them?"

"Sure, I can… hic… tame a dragon, haha…"

"Tame a dragon? I don't think so. And if there is someone who can, it's the one person that I'm sure will never visit Cyrodiil."

"Ah, Skyrim has it so easy," Alma whined and scratched her chin. "And they never send anyone to…"

"Well, the borders are closed, they can't really do anything."

"Oh, there have been refugees, all right? We have'em right here in the city. And I'm sure more will come. But what do they do? Drink our mead…"

"Meeaaaad!"

"…eat our supplies and that's about it. Skyrim is our homeland my arse. Bruma is a part of Cyrodiil, and for Cyrodiil we fight!"

Tye clenched his fists slightly. The Nord turned to him for a split second. Although he could not see his friend, he was quite sure about that movement of his, given the topic of the conversation they were listening to.

"Oh come on, you don't even know them…"

"Exactly! They barely show their faces! No one remembers them, really, except for Arika, that herbalist…"

There was a movement deep in the shadows. The Nord knew that their target set out and tugged at his friend's sleeve to lead him around the chapel. The intruder rounded a few houses and then walked into the light, turning towards the main gate. That was good. It meant she felt safe, and that gave the two stalkers a chance to learn something about her.

The Nord took a look at her. It was an Imperial woman of average height with broad shoulders, short, chestnut colored hair and—

"Golden eyes!" Tye whispered in astonishment. "She has golden eyes!"

"I guess…" the Nord murmured.

"You guess? I've never seen anyone like that! I mean… the elves sometimes have amber eyes, but this… look at them, they're… different."

"Aye, but who knows. Maybe she's using magic to change her appearance. Nothing can surprise me these days."

"True… but you have to admit she's got style."

"What?"

"She looks damn good."

"Oh gods, not this."

"And she's got a warrior's stance."

"Warrior? No way, look at the way she walks, the consciousness in her movements and the way she looks around. She's definitely a thief."

"Nonsense," Tye argued heatedly. "Just look at her. She looks like she's used to carrying a sword. The way her back is bent, the way she carries herself, it all points to her warrior nature."

"Well," the Nord chuckled, "one thing is for sure. That dress definitely doesn't suit her."

"What do you mean? She looks… well, she _would_ look stunning if it weren't apparent she spent a lot of time in that storm."

"That's not what I mean," the Nord shook his head, ignoring the fact that his companion could not see him. "But I'm sure you agree that she's not used to wearing such clothes."

"You got a point there."

"Let's see what she's going to do now," the Nord breathed and sipped the potion again. He pulled his friend with him around the chapel, carefully tailing the woman in sight. She stopped for a brief moment and looked around. For a split second, it seemed as though her gaze settled right at the invisible pair of stalkers, but she turned around the next moment and proceeded along the line of low wooden buildings on her right, walking all the way until its end. A worn signboard on the last house announced a tavern called Daren's Tap'n'Tack. She paused to scrutinize the building and then grabbed the door handle.

"Wait," Tye turned to his companion, "is she really entering Tap'n'Tack?"

"Ah, this will be interesting," the Nord grinned mischievously and hurried to the window on the left side of the building. Just as he peeked through it, his eyes accommodating to the dim light inside, a sound of shattered glass cut through the air and he felt Tye cringe beside him.

"Still the same, huh," Tye breathed.

"Get out, filth, whoever you are!" a rough voice yelled. The newcomer backed away slightly and dodged a mug which came flying at her direction right after the glass. She raised her hands defensively.

"All right, all right," she murmured, "sorry for bothering you."

"You're sorry?! Tell that to my wife! And my children!"

"Well, I…" the woman stammered, unsure of how she should react to that, but the man before her, a Nord with unwashed wheat colored hair knotted in a number of disheveled tangles, clad only in a stained pair of trousers, did not even seem to notice.

"You all come and say sorry, you all have your perfect lives and your mead and all the world is at the palm of your hand. And where is my family? Eh?! I'll tell you where! Dead! They're all dead and this is all I have left!" The man threw his hands up in the air. "I ain't serving you pigs any more mead! You couldn't protect my family, I owe you nothing at all!"

The observing Nord beneath the window sighed and shook his head, but then he watched with interest as the woman facing the broken bartender straightened her back and her expression hardened.

"Fine," she said, her voice considerably calmer than just a few seconds before. "I take it back."

"What now?!"

"I take it back. I'm not sorry. I shouldn't feel sorry for such a loser anyway."

"What did you just—"

"Loser. I called you a loser. What should I call someone who can't even go out there and show the people who killed his own family their place? Yeah, you can go ahead and drown yourself in sorrow. I won't stop you. I'll leave it to your poor wife to chase you out of Sovngarde herself."

With that, the woman walked away, leaving the shocked man stare at the empty space before him.

"That was awesome," Tye grinned.

"Can't argue with that," the Nord chuckled.

They watched her leave, snorting silently as the door snapped shut behind her. She paused for a moment and looked around, turning her head towards the chapel, then to the buildings on the other side of the road spanning from the main gate up to the castle, and finally her attention fixed on the castle itself. The two observers could almost feel her thinking, considering the possibilities. At last, she took a step forward, to the southern part of the city, but the door behind her suddenly flew open and in it stood the broken Nord who, at that moment, did not appear broken at all. There was a spark in his eyes which had not been there before, and he called to the woman with sudden vigor in his voice.

"Wait, stranger!"

"He got out of his house," Tye whispered in astounded.

"Indeed." The Nord's smile was almost tangible.

The woman looked over her shoulder with a single eyebrow raised in question.

"Tonight at the Guildhall!" the man called to her. "Fight me! Just you, I and our fists."

She gave him a slightly timid smile. "I'm afraid I must be on my way then."

"On your way? Where?"

"Who knows," she uttered mysteriously.

"Traveling is prohibited…"

"That's too bad," she said with a shrug.

"The elves guard the roads."

"Then I'll just have to avoid the roads, won't I?"

"Ah, what a drag… I think I could help you there."

"For someone who's lost his family recently, you sure are trustful towards a stranger."

"No friend of the Thalmor would say those words to me. Not even the locals did."

The woman smiled slightly and finally walked back, closer to the man. She leaned to him and whispered something in his ear. The man widened his eyes, looking slightly alarmed.

"You… you won't be able to get there," he whispered hoarsely, leading his new companion back to the house again, and the two stalkers had to strain their ears to catch the conversation. "The city's overflowing with elves. They took everything they could, hold the Council hostage, destroyed the temple. No one will ever set foot in the White-Gold Tower again." He opened the door and held it for his guest. She nodded and entered.

"Then what about…" the door snapped after them and then there was silence.

"Oblivion take it," the Nord cursed. "It was starting to get interesting."

"At least we know she's not with the Dominion," Tye said.

"No, we don't. Daren's way too gullible."

"You're way too paranoid."

"You can never be too careful." The potion wore off and the Nord's slightly bent figure appeared before Tye, just as he did before his friend. "Say, how did she sneak in?"

"She got past the patrolling guard who went out to check on the situation."

"Wait, seriously? I trained those guys myself!"

"Maybe he was careless…"

"No, that's impossible. The extent of her skill is becoming scary."

"I still think you're overestimating her…"

"And you're too gullible yourself."

"Hey! Don't vent your frustration on me!" Tye grunted, puckering his eyebrows. "It's not my fault Daren decided to help her."

"I know," the Nord sighed. "I'm just really uneasy. I don't want history to repeat itself."

"History always repeats itself," Tye said, patting his friend on the back.

"Aye, but it'd be nice if it wasn't now."

"Since when are you so concerned about other people's wellbeing, my friend?" Tye laughed, but it was a bitter laugh, full of sympathy and concern.

"I always was," the Nord snorted. They both laughed. Tye raised a brow when he saw his companion suddenly grinned at him.

"What?"

"Do you know what my strong point is?"

"Which one?"

The Nord chuckled. "The one that will always get me where I want." He winked conspiratorially.

"Oh no," Tye said with feigned terror in his face.

* * *

Aislinn's eyes roamed around the place endlessly, scrutinizing every piece of furniture, the dusty flagons and bowls, the pieces of cloth which lay scattered disorderly throughout the room, the dark corners covered in cobwebs… everything seemed as though it had been put there some months ago and had not been touched ever since. After all, even the local owner seemed somehow as a living corpse, though his eyes had livened up ever since her little display of indifference. She had asked herself whether it wasn't too cruel for a man who had just lost everything, but it seemed he had already answered that question.

"I'm… I'm sorry, this place is a mess," the man said nervously. "I haven't really tended to it lately."

Aislinn shrugged. "I don't mind. If mess was lethal, I'd have died a long time ago."

The man chuckled. "My name is Daren," he stretched out his hand. "Pleased to meet you."

She accepted the hand and gripped it tightly. "Lynn," she lied, scolding herself inwardly for not coming up with a better name for herself. Truth be told, she had not thought about it before, so she had to think it up on the spot. A mistake on her part. "Nice to meet you too."

"You asked me about the Moth Priests," Daren said, seating himself on one of the chairs while beckoning to another. Aislinn nodded but did not follow. "Well, I don't have to be a rumor-gathering bartender to know that there are no Elder Scrolls in the White-Gold Tower anymore. I thought it was common knowledge, to be honest."

"I don't need an Elder Scroll," Aislinn shook her head. "I just need a Moth Priest."

"But the only thing they're good for is…"

"I know what they're good for. I still need the priest. It doesn't matter what I need him for."

Daren watched her for a while before nodding slowly in understanding.

"Say, you don't, by any chance, happen to know where I could obtain a detailed map of the Imperial City?" Aislinn asked. "A recent one, that is."

"A map, you say? Well, I don't have one, but I think I know someone who might. Or who could draw you one, at least. He has it all in his head. I don't think he'll give it for free, though."

"I have money."

"Really?" the bartender tilted his head to the side and his eyes scanned Aislinn from top to bottom, narrowing doubtfully.

"Let's just say I left my things at a safe place. And no, you won't find any kind of journal on me, so I don't think there's any point killing me in order to learn where I keep them."

Daren laughed. "But well, you know, money has little value in times of war. I'm not sure if that person will want money for payment."

"What will he want then?"

"Let's go ask him, shall we?"

Aislinn nodded and watched the Nord rise from his seat again.

"Let me just find some better clothes so I don't look like a scarecrow," he said and disappeared behind a door on the right side of the room. A while after he reappeared in a clean set of leather trousers and a blindingly white shirt which contrasted his hastily washed face, red from recent scrubbing, and his tangled hair which he had apparently tried to tame without much success. Aislinn could not suppress a slight smile at the change. Who could have expected that behind that mask of dirt and sorrow would be hiding such a handsome man.

They exited the house with Daren in the lead, treading towards the stone steps leading to the castle. Aislinn gave a long, pensive look to the damaged Great Chapel of Talos. It was a magnificent piece of architecture with its great pilasters and pillars supporting the building, the latter connected by a series of arcs, seemingly too fragile to withstand a stronger gust of wind, and yet they had lasted for centuries. Its tall mosaic windows were inlaid with colored glass creating images of the Nine Divines. If a single settlement in Cyrodiil had architecture to which no building for the living in Skyrim could compare, what wonders awaited her in the Imperial City?

The man before her shifted nervously and she turned her head to look for the source. A pair of people standing nearby ceased their chattering, staring in surprise at the two of them. Aislinn opened her mouth to speak, but Daren was faster.

"I was expecting it," he told her. "I haven't come out for a month. Maybe more. But that doesn't mean I like the attention."

She nodded despite knowing that he could not see it, but then she noticed movement behind her. She knit her brows and sped up to catch up with her companion.

"What's in _that_ house?" she asked, pointing to one of the bigger houses they had passed a while before. She used the moment to look around inconspicuously, scanning their surroundings for any suspicious motion. Was she paranoid? Just like before, she had a feeling she was being watched. It contradicted what the townsfolk were saying, that there were many refugees in the city and people were used to seeing unknown faces. Then again, if she had been spotted while sneaking into the city, and chances of that happening were quite high, she might have raised suspicion. Well, as long as it's not the Thalmor who are after her, she can deal with them. Hopefully.

"Oh, that?" Daren turned to her. "Best not mention it. The Synod had taken refuge there, reconstructing the building after the fall of the Mages Guild. They're arrogant and antisocial. The word 'friend' is not in their dictionary, they only work for their own benefit. Especially after the Emperor was assassinated, they secluded themselves, only tending to their research."

 _Arrogant and antisocial,_ Aislinn repeated inwardly, recollecting her experience in Mzulft. _Yeah, that pretty much describes them._

They continued up the stairs, climbing from one stone ledge to another until they reached the castle walls surrounded by tents, mostly deserted.

"He should be around here," the Nord man said, "and if not, he's sure to arrive soo… hey, are you all right?"

Without answering, Aislinn turned around abruptly and a kick of her foot sent the invisible man before her flying to the ground. She instinctively grabbed his collar, pinning him to the ground, and waited for him to turn solid again. A startled squeal issued just a few feet from her and she squinted at the air in the direction where it had come from.

"Have you just tried to steal from me?" she hissed, staring as a figure of a dark-haired Nord with bright turquoise eyes materialized before her. She winced. He was the spitting image of Brynjolf, maybe just slightly more muscular and, of course, with different hairstyle.

"Me?" he asked innocently, wide smile curling on his lips. "Steal from you? Oh, no no no no no, this must be some kind of mistake. Right, Tye?" He threw a quick glance at the man standing slightly aloof. Aislinn looked at him with narrowed eyes and eyebrows still knitted closely together. An Imperial was standing there, dressed in expensive looking deep blue robes with golden lining, his round face framed by a wild mop of light brown hair. Under a pair of thin, cultivated brows, deep eyes of murky grey color like the skies before a storm glistened. These eyes too reminded Aislinn of someone, though she could not remember who exactly. The memory seemed somehow bitter and she felt a tug at her heart when she looked into them.

The man seemed fairly disconcerted, one moment looking at his companion, the other at Aislinn. "W-well…" was the only thing he managed to articulate.

"Ah, I was a fool to ask, traitor," the Nord snorted.

"Ardur!" Daren exclaimed, being the only one who seemed delighted with the situation. "There you are!"

Aislinn frowned. "Is this the one we're looking for?" she asked doubtfully.

"Sure is. Ardur, this is Lynn. Lynn, this is Ardur, our local fount of wisdom."

"Charmed," Ardur uttered gruffly. "Now if you would kindly let go of me so we can have a proper conversation…"

Aislinn rolled her eyes but stepped aside reluctantly. The dark haired Nord stood up and brushed the dirt from his arms and sleeveless leather armor. His eyes fixed on Aislinn, studying her attentively, and she could not help but squint back at him, comparing every detail of his body to Brynjolf. She was surprised how much she remembered of the red haired thief, how much she knew him. She could imagine every single wrinkle in his face, every hair of his and the exact shape of his eyes and mouth. He had scars on his cheeks, a bigger one on the left, a smaller one on the right, and his eyes were always distant and observant at the same time. This person seemed more easygoing, as though he was just sailing through the time, living his life to the fullest, but perhaps behind that mask of breeziness, there was a deeper emotion that was his drive.

The Dragonborn felt uneasy, wishing only to turn her back on this person, and she was sure he noticed it. His head tilted to the side and he curled his lips again, taking a step forward.

"So," he spoke and Aislinn exhaled deeply. At least his voice was not so similar, although his accent sounded a bit like Brynjolf's. "You had business with me?"

"This lady here wants a map of the Imperial City," Daren informed him.

"I'm not sure if I should trust someone who has just tried to rob me though," Aislinn said with a silent snort. Ardur returned it promptly.

"Well, that's good, because I don't trust people who appear out of nowhere, sneaking into the city past the guards who have received special training for situations like this."

"Oh, did I hurt your pride?" Aislinn asked with a sweet smile before she could suppress it. The man scowled, but Daren stepped in abruptly, waving his arms in panic.

"Come on, guys, be friends? Ardur, what will you ask of me for helping her? I owe her."

"I don't care," Ardur growled. "I don't help people I can't trust. So unless she proves herself, she's not going to receive any help from me."

"You're being a kid, Ardy," the Imperial said strictly, closing the distance between himself and his friend, and a corner of Aislinn's mouth inadvertently twitched when she heard his strangely childish voice speaking in such an adult manner. "Why would a Thalmor associate want a map of the Imperial city anyway?"

"You can never be too sure…"

"Ardur, please…"

"Ah, enough of this," Aislinn said with resignation. "I give up. Thank you anyway, Daren. You tried your best."

"But…"

"It's okay. I need to be on my way soon, there's no way I can 'prove myself' to anyone."

"Is that so?" Ardur drawled, drawing closer to Aislinn. "Well, that's too bad. No one leaves the city without me approving of it."

Aislinn frowned and felt her body tense up. "I kindly ask you to step out of my way," she whispered.

She could see him wince ever so slightly, but he quickly regained his firm stance and responded with a sneer. "And if I don't?"

"Then I might not ask so nicely again."

"You want to fight me, Milk Skin? No matter how I look at it, you're clearly at a disadvantage here."

"I—"

"Tye! Ardur!" a voice came from afar and everyone turned to see a man clad in a shinier version of the yellow Bruma heavy armor approaching their little group, catching his breath. "We're in trouble! Very, very serious trouble!"

Both Tye and Ardur furrowed their brows, the latter shifting on his feet nervously while the former just tilted his head, staring at the newcomer calmly in wait for the news. "Out with it, Somnir," he encouraged.

"The elves have returned," he rasped. The two addressed exchanged looks. "But that's not all. They have… by the Nine, I can't even say it…"

"Calm down," Ardur said slowly. "Just take a breath and tell us what happened."

The man nodded and inhaled deeply before continuing. "The scouts have spotted an army approaching the city. Not the largest army you can imagine, but they have something none of us could have expected."

"And that is?"

"A dragon." The man looked at the group helplessly.

"Wha—"

"What did you just say?" Aislinn breathed, her eyes widening in shock.

"I know it's unbelievable, but he was there. Large, winged beast with scales like shiny razors…"

"I guess that solves the problem then," she said through her teeth and let out a sigh. Ardur gave her a questioning look when she turned to him. "You don't have to worry. I'm going to prove myself to you soon enough."

* * *

 _New characters! A bunch of new characters, yay!_

 _So… uff, to be honest, I don't really have the strength to write a proper note, so I'll pass this time. Life has been hard this past month and I've caught myself escaping into the land of Skyrim many times. Modded my game like crazy and just played… so I think it's a miracle this chapter is finished. Then again, I still enjoyed writing it so I hope you enjoyed reading it. New questions might arise around the new characters and setting, but everything will be explained, as always. I promise._

 _I'd like to thank dart0808 for helping me with this chapter. It was he who came up with "Milk Skin" and Somnir's name (you're going to learn more about Somnir later in the story)._

 _I'd also like to thank you guys for your awesome reviews, favorites and follows. Don't you worry, Farkhali's tough, she's going to manage. And she'll most probably appear in the next chapter. ;)_

 _So, I guess that's it for today. I hope to see more amazing reviews from you. And sorry I take so much time to update. Thanks for all your support!_

 _Mirwen_


	37. Tormented Souls

_A word of warning before reading the following text. This chapter includes torture and violence. I tried to remove the most explicit parts but you may still find it a tad upsetting. Still… I hope you're not going to hate me. This one definitely wrote itself, so I didn't really want to change much in the end. I even made more people read it and give me some feedback, but they all liked it, so I'm just going to leave it like this. With that, I wish you happy reading._

* * *

 **Chapter 37: Tormented Souls**

It wasn't the fact that she could not see a thing that bothered her. It wasn't even because her hands and legs were tied together, forcing her to curl up in a strangely twisted position. But the considerable lack of shadows was maddening. She could not feel anything, she had no idea where she was and how she was supposed to escape from there. She felt helpless and desperate and she was not used to feeling that way. She cursed the Hunter in her mind.

"Sleep well?" a voice purred. It was her, the cursed Argonian who had pursued her across half of Skyrim. She clenched her fists, or tried to, realizing with horror how weak she had become. "Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Not yet, at least." The Hunter laughed and it sounded like fallen withered branches cracking under the steps of feet clad in steel boots. Farkhali shuddered.

Silent footsteps approached her, almost inaudible to any ordinary person. She felt a tug at her skin as her captor pulled her blindfold off of her head. A number of hairs were plucked mercilessly from the skin on her head and the Khajiit would have winced were it possible for her. A moment after, she realized that she was floating in midair, trapped in an orb of dim light. Nevertheless, it blinded her as it was the first thing she saw after opening her eyes. She blinked, trying to adapt to it, and finally she recognized the silhouette of an Argonian woman standing just outside the orb. The Hunter exhibited a mild smile, but there was no warmth in the way she twisted her lips.

"I must confess you were quite the challenge," she whispered. "But you got on my bad side and that was a mistake. The Hunter never lets the prey escape."

"Just spit it out," Farkhali snarled silently.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You didn't come here to boast about your single-mindedness. That's not your style."

"Straightforward, aren't you? I like it."

"So?"

"Isn't it obvious?" the Hunter said with a snort. "Tell me where General Tullius is."

"And what's in it for me?" Farkhali asked as innocently as she could.

The Argonian hesitated, unprepared for such a question, but then she looked into the Khajiit's eyes and smiled again. "I don't think you're in a position to ask such a question, dear Malkin."

"Well, I tried," Farkhali uttered casually, her eyes sparkling mischievously. She attempted to mentally create an illusion of herself, shrugging as she spoke. The Hunter's smile vanished.

"Don't tempt me, Malkin," she breathed in a threatening voice, narrowing her eyes.

"Or what? You gonna torture me, which you'll do anyway? Nope, sorry. Better have some fun before you do."

"I'll give you one more chance. Where is General Tullius?"

"Come to think of it," Farkhali remarked lightly, "since you don't know where he is, you clearly couldn't keep up with me all the time. I guess I overestimated the _great_ Hunter."

The Argonian's face twisted into an enraged grimace and she reached for a nearby shelf, grabbing a whip. A very simple one, with several stripes of leather braided carefully into one resilient rod. The moment it touched her, the skin ripped under it and Farkhali felt as though a blade cut right through her, burning and freezing at the same time. She gasped and closed her eyes, but did not cry out. She knew this was just the beginning. A mere whip would not be enough to break her, and both she and her captor knew it. She decide to feign ignorance.

"Oh come on," she drawled, careful not to make her voice sound shaky. "Is the Thalmor really worth it? Did you really need to go this far just to catch some power hungry Imperial?"

"Funny you should put it this way," the Hunter replied silently. "But you need to learn that I am the one asking questions here." A swishing sound and another blow of the whip made Farkhali clench her fists. She cussed in her head. This had just become personal.

"Give up," she said, choosing an expression of a parent giving a friendly advice to a child. "Nothing's gonna come out of this. Besides, I don't think Tullius stays idle while we're talking. I wouldn't be able to tell you where he is anyway."

"Either you're trying to mock me, or you're giving in," the Argonian uttered with a slight smile. "I'd like to believe it's the latter, but just to make sure…"

More whipping. This time, three blows landed and three times Farkhali winced internally.

"Even this spell," she breathed, but her voice betrayed her this time. She could clearly hear it shaking, if only barely. "How much effort it must have taken you to find a spell that could keep me like this?"

The whipping continued. Farkhali kept her eyelids shut tightly, trying to forget she was even there. Her enemy was furious, which was both good and bad. Good, because she was losing control and people who lost control were easier to manipulate. Bad, because thanks to that, Farkhali was on the verge of losing her mind herself.

 _Do you know what it's like when they take your hand and break your fingers, slowly, painfully, one after another? Have you ever felt the burning of a whip on your bare skin? Have you ever gone for a week straight without any sleep, having the soles of your feet beaten until they turned deep blue and paralyzed your whole body? Have you ever hung head down for a single day, shaking violently and barely able to breathe as they stuck stuff in certain places of your body? Have you ever woken up as they poured ice-cold water on you, only to realize that the nightmare has not yet ended?_

That was what she had told Tullius when he had so unscrupulously scolded her for being "weak". For being a thief without shame who could not stand "a bit of torture". And yet, here she was, suffering and fighting for that shameless bastard. Fighting so he could satiate his thirst for power and dominance. She hated him. Even more than the wicked Argonian who was currently enjoying watching her wildly shaking body, she despised the contemptuous general who respected no one.

She'd had enough torture for her life. She had spoken from experience and had made sure the man felt it at that time. _Why do you think I became that blasted thief without shame?_ she snarled at him inwardly. He could not hear her, of course, and even if he could, he would not understand. Not a man like him who only saw his own path to the top of the social ladder.

Was stealing so bad in the end? She would never steal from a person in need. None of the Guild member would. They mostly received requests from nobles anyway, and who cared if a noble lost a septim… or a thousand of them. But the Guild was a warm place. A place where everyone would welcome her without questioning her past and her motives. A place where she felt useful and appreciated. In the end, she rescued that cold, uncaring person in the name of the Guild, and went as far as suffering for him in order to protect him. Just so he could take Skyrim again. Just so he would regain the respect that he so firmly refused to pay to others.

 _Aislinn,_ she thought hopelessly. _What would you do in my place? I might have made the wrong choice… I don't know anymore._

She opened her eyes. The whipping had ceased and she realized that her mind had drifted into its own world, protecting her from the pain. The sudden change made her return to reality and she winced internally as she felt it again, pulsating throughout her body. She was shaking wildly and warm blood was dripping from her fur, falling through the orb onto the ground. The Argonian was speaking to her, but Farkhali could not make out what it was that she was saying. She did not care either and had to smile to herself slightly. Poor Hunter. All her effort would be wasted, just because she still did not know whom she was dealing with. In spite of all the pain and suffering, Farkhali had no intention of losing this fight.

A new type of pain flooded her and now she was forced to look at her captor. She felt her ear ripping and it cost her all her strength and determination not to cry out. The Argonian gave her a wicked grin, propping herself comfortably against a stone pillar and thus furthering Farkhali's feeling of despair.

"We can end this right now," she informed her.

 _Oh, thanks for telling me,_ Farkhali thought bitterly. No, it wasn't the fact that she wanted to protect Tullius that kept her going. If it wasn't for the planned invasion, she wouldn't care about the man. But she felt her pride was at stake here. She refused to lose like this. She replied to the Argonian with a grin of her own.

"By all means, please continue," she whispered hoarsely. "I am quite enjoying this."

"As you wish," the Hunter smiled and raised her hands. So now was the time for spells. Farkhali closed her eyes again. Hundreds of tiny needles of ice pierced her feet. The pain was unbearable, and yet she knew it would get worse. It never ended with ice.

She was right. The ice drained the energy from her body and soon she barely felt anything. Then, Oblivion broke out when fire hit her. The sudden difference in heat was agonizing. It spread from her limbs to her torso, claiming all of her at once. She failed to hold it in this time and her cry echoed through the room. Her tormentor laughed savagely. Farkhali felt her stomach knot as the smell of her singed fur reached her nostrils.

"One word, Malkin," she said. "One word."

"All right, I'll tell you," Farkhali exhaled. "In the afterlife."

More fire. Then a healing spell. Ice and fire again. Farkhali kept her eyes shut and fists clenched, wishing she had a spell to speed up time. The positive thing was that the Argonian was obviously forbidden from causing real harm. Not even once she touched her eyes or her vitals.

Another flood of pain took over her shaking body and Farkhali felt vomit go up her throat. The twisted Argonian let her suffocate for a good while before turning her in the air. The Khajiit knew she would soon lose consciousness, but she did not dare give in yet. She was sure that mental torture would be next, but the Argonian would not risk it unless she was absolutely certain that her prisoner was mentally broken. Darkness began to spread its soothing wings around her.

* * *

A splash of cold water made her open her eyes again, only to face more pain. Farkhali did not know how much time it had passed since she had been captured. Maybe hours, maybe days. It took more than physical pain to break the Khajiit master of shadows though and she was convinced that the Argonian was aware of it.

She held on. Her body was screaming and begging, every inch of it burned, and yet she felt cold inside, as though her inner fire was dying. Her energy had left her a long time ago and now the only thing keeping her alive and relatively sane were the healing spells meant to prolong her suffering. How ironic that the spells meant to heal were now used as the worst instrument of torture. It went on and on and on, the Hunter constantly finding new ways to inflict pain.

A thousand of crooked blades made their way from her crotch through the stomach and throat up to her mouth. She thought there was no energy left in her to scream, but she was wrong. This was new even to her. She knew it had to be an illusion, for there was no way she would be able to survive such a thing, but it felt so real that cold flooded her body like an avalanche. The time was now.

She screamed and let her body shake violently. She was terrified of her own voice, but forced herself to calm down internally. Enduring the pain while trying to sound convincingly broken and searching for the source of the illusion at the same time was extraordinarily difficult a task, but she knew there was no other choice. She needed to win this fight. Her mind scanned itself. For a moment, she did not even need to feign anything, the gasps and moans came out naturally as she faced an especially painful part of her past. She walked through her own world, sometimes strangely twisted as a result of her mind's protective measures. The Hunter was good at concealing her presence in the physical world, but she did not say behind in the mental one either. Nothing seemed out of order in Farkhali's mind. And yet, she felt pain that technically could not have been there. What was it? _Where_ was it?

The agony seemed to overwhelm her. There was pain everywhere. So much pain… even her mind was starting to get filled with pain. More, and more…

Farkhali gasped, both with pain and sudden realization. The source of the pain… was the pain. What better way could there be to conceal something than just use it as a replacement of the same thing? Farkhali forced herself to enter the dark corners of her mind where memories of pain resided. There were so many it scared her. She usually kept this part sealed away, shut somewhere deep inside so she would not have to relive the cruelest moments of her life. She needed to face them now and remind herself that these were truly hers.

* * *

There was a screaming girl lying face down in the midst of a crowd of people. There were men and women, old and young, mostly beastfolk but some of them were Redguard or elven races. Very few of them were humans with pale skin. They were all covered in dirt, wearing simple linen tunics with plain leather belts around their waists, many of them lacking even the basic equipment such as shoes, with blisters covering their feet and hands. Some of them were holding pickaxes while the others carried shovels, spades or chisels. Their eyes were all the same, reddish and glassy, staring hungrily at the girl. One of them, a skeletal Redguard man with greasy hair whose color had long faded into indistinct greyish vagueness, turned to Farkhali.

"Look closely," he said, and the wrinkled crack that was his mouth gaped into a crooked malicious grin, "so you always remember how you don't wanna end up."

"No…" she whispered and turned away almost instantly. She was grabbed against her will, feeling the stretching of her skin as the man tugged at the fur on the back of her head ruthlessly. She fought him with all her might, and for a moment, it seemed as though she would win the brawl. Then, she was kicked in the stomach. She fell on the ground while coughing. Attempting to rise on her feet again, she was grabbed by her collar and tossed beside the crying girl. The man cackled and pointed a finger at her.

"Bad girls get punished," he shook his head and gave her a conspicuously feigned compassionate smile. "Hey guys," he said hoarsely. Then he looked around, studying the faces that looked up to him, and finally his gaze settled back on Farkhali. He snorted. "Do her too."

Everything that came after that was pain and humiliation. Farkhali cried and begged, and no one listened. No one cared and no one was on her side. No one would ever be…

 _No…_ she whispered inwardly and closed her eyes. _No, this is not real. It's not real… anymore…_

She gasped and her eyes snapped open again. The Hunter was staring at her maniacally, leaning to her with her hand clutching a wand pointed at her, and for a moment, the insufferable physical pain returned.

 _NO! This… this isn't real either! Snap out of it, Farkhali!_

The images before her changed at lightning speed, driving her into madness.

 _NO!_ she cried again in her mind. _It's going to be okay, it's going to be okay, it's going to be okay…_

She forced the darkness of her mind onto herself again. The search continued. She carefully inspected her memories, keeping safe distance from them, avoiding direct confrontation. And yet, she failed again.

"This is your new home," a rough voice told her. It was a government official, clad in expensive velvet robes with golden leaf patterns on the rims. He wore a number of golden rings with rubies and diamonds and a piece of rich white fur sprinkled with dark dots around his neck. The only thing she remembered clearly of his face was his nose which looked like a falcon's beak.

She looked up to him timidly. "But isn't this…"

"Right, it's a mine."

"But you said home…"

"Of course. It's a home. For filth like you."

He grabbed her skinny hand and pulled her toward a cavern whose walls and ceiling were strengthened by a number of wooden pillars and brackets. A number of men were helping themselves to some kind of drink which she strongly suspected to be skooma. Upon their arrival, they turned to the newcomers and immediately, their eyes rested on Farkhali.

"Oh, a cute little kitty," one of them drawled and smacked his mouth. "Brought us a new toy, Azhad?"

"Caught her thieving downtown," the official replied, squeezing her hand painfully. She averted her eyes, pinning them to the ground.

"So about the papers…"

"There's no need for that. She's a homeless filth, she ain't got no papers."

"Neat," the miner snickered and took Farkhali's hand which was handed to him roughly. The little Khajiit was forced to look at him and smell his foul breath. "Welcome home, kitty," the man said with a sneer. "Before you settle down, we have a small gift for you."

"Well, I'll be excusing myself," the man in the velvet robes waved to the miners.

"Wait!" Farkhali cried. "Don't leave me here! Please!"

The man gave her one last look full of contempt before exiting the mine. Farkhali felt her other hand being grabbed by another man. She looked up in dismay.

The memory faded before her eyes as she forced herself to take a deep breath and set it aside. Slowly, her determination was leaving her. She wanted to just curl up in a corner and cry, but she gritted her teeth and went on. Inadvertently, she called forth another memory.

Another Redguard man was sitting on a bench, crunching on a stale slice of bread. A broken pickaxe was resting on his lap and he scrutinized it with a sigh. He then lifted his gaze and his eyes pierced Farkhali. His deep blue eyes were the only thing that set the man apart from the rest of the miners. There was no malice in them, only years of struggles and pain, and also a kind of hardness which she failed to describe. He watched her thoughtfully for a moment.

"Get out," he said.

The Khajiit girl did not move.

"I said get out," he repeated.

She gave him a pleading look full of sadness and despair. He sighed.

"I'm really not good with kids," he shook his head. Then he pulled out a plain steel dagger and pointed it at her face. She took a step backwards.

"Don't go asking me for help," he grunted. "I cannot help you. In this world, you can only help yourself." He put the dagger back in its sheath, removed it from his belt and threw it in her direction. She caught it shakily.

"Now get out," he told her again. "There's only so much you need to survive."

She clutched the dagger and staggered backwards, out of the cave and into the heat of the dry, Hammerfell summer. With the blade hidden behind her back, she looked around. A man was examining a pile of ore loaded onto a wagon there. It was the same skeletal man who had encouraged his associates to entertain themselves with her body some time ago. The same man who kept putting her through the mill from the first moment he had laid his eyes on her. She despised him. The roots of her hatred for him ran so deep they had become a part of herself. She decided to turn around and walk away, but he raised his head and their eyes met. He grinned at her, as he often did, and suddenly she felt all the strength retreating from her legs. She watched as he approached her, shivering as cold flooded her despite the hot weather which made the air around them flicker.

"Come to have some fun?" he snorted. She watched rooted to the spot. He stretched out his hand and–

"Don't touch me," she snarled suddenly.

"Sorry, what was that?" he asked her derisively.

She looked straight into his eyes, gaining confidence from who knew where. "Don't touch me," she repeated.

He let out a dry laugh like the grinding sound of a saw. "Are you trying to oppose me, filth? Are you sure? You know how it goes… bad girls get punished." He leaned to her and she cringed.

"No!" she cried out. His hand found her cheek but she suddenly charged forward, knocking him down in the process. He landed square on the hard ground and groaned in pain and anger. Farkhali felt a kick in the stomach and for a moment, she was breathless. She quickly rolled away and unsheathed the dagger, pointing it at her opponent.

"So, the little beast bared its teeth," the man spat. "But it's okay, I'll make sure you remember your pla—"

Farkhali darted forward, clutching the dagger with both hands. The man's eyes widened and he tried to dodge the attack. He underestimated the slight Khajiit girl who put everything into this small speck of hope. She was fast and light on her feet. The dagger buried itself deep into the man's stomach. He gasped and let out a gurgling sound. She stared at her hands, pulling the dagger out forcefully. Then, her hand shakily reached his pocket and took whatever gold it found.

Staggering away, she did not dare look back. Soon, her totter turned into uncertain trot, and the trot into gallop as she kept speeding up. She would escape this place. After all those horrible years, she would be free. She would find a carriage, bribe the driver and leave this cursed land for good. She had no family or friends, no one was waiting for her return. She would go wherever she pleased, with no one to stop her anymore. She could do anything.

And with that, Farkhali left the sunny world of Hammerfell and sent it back to the swirling sea of memories, a touch calmer than before.

The blackness that surrounded her did not last long. Suddenly, she found herself in another place at another time. She looked around. This was definitely Skyrim, with its grey, grim weather and harsh winds. A lone farm was standing in the middle of the tundra, and she suspected it was somewhere close to Windhelm. Maybe somewhere between Windhelm and Dawnstar. Strangely enough, she could not recall having lived such a moment. An Argonian man was tending to a couple of horses stabled under a frail roof while a woman of the same race was harvesting whatever grew at the small field behind the low house with thatch roof. A feeling of anxiety filled Farkhali, and a number of thoughts crossed her mind and made her feel nauseous. She winced internally. This was not her memory, nor were those her thoughts.

She was now in an Argonian body, holding a basket filled with mountain flowers. While the little girl in the memory skipped merrily, Farkhali felt the owner of the memory fret in apprehension. It clashed with her thoughts and in a way, it was painful. She had no idea what was happening, but the prospect of entering someone else's mind seemed too valuable for her to pass on it. Never mind the dangers, it could prove advantageous to know more about her enemy. And so she braced herself, letting herself be absorbed by the memory. She felt alien thoughts taking over her mind.

A cloud of dust and snow had risen on the horizon and a number of riders on horses appeared, quickly approaching the farm. At a closer look, Farkhali could see they were all clad in Imperial armors, one of them even holding a standard. A mid-aged man whose armor was shinier than the others went ahead and tugged at his horse's reins upon reaching the field. He dismounted and greeted the Argonian woman with a slight bow. The man who had been tending to the horses joined her quickly, welcoming the Imperial with a reserved, apprehensive look in his face.

"Good day," the newcomer said with a wide smile. "It is my pleasure to announce that your family is one of the few lucky winners who are to provide space, accommodation and supplies for the Imperial army. As a compensation, the Legion is sworn to protect you and your family from any harm that may come to you in this war."

"I haven't heard anything about this," the Argonian man murmured gruffly. "Go away."

"You have no right to refuse the liberators of Skyrim," the soldier objected. "You are, by the Imperial law, obliged to provide us with everything we need and serve the country if the necessity arises."

"No Imperial law is valid in this territory, soldier. Leave this land at once."

"Are you, Argonians, siding with the Stormcloaks who would put your kind in the front line to be slaughtered like pigs without a second thought?" the Imperial asked incredulously.

"We are not siding with anyone. We bought a land in the middle of nothing so we could work every single day from dawn to dusk just to survive. This farm is like our child. I won't allow anyone to trample it. Not even the liberators of Skyrim."

"You will…"

"I said no and that is final."

The soldier pressed his lips tightly together and narrowed his eyes, giving the Argonian couple a look full of contempt. "We will be back," he said and returned to his horse. His companions joined him, riding back to the approaching cloud of dust.

The Argonian man turned to the girl standing aloof through whose eyes Farkhali was watching the scene. "Taveera, get in the barn," he ordered.

"But da…"

"I said get in the barn. Now."

She shuffled away unwillingly, heading for a taller wooden building located next to the house. She entered the dark interior and shut the door behind her, but stayed close to it, finding a crevice through which she could watch her parents. They seemed to have a heated discussion about something, but stopped abruptly when more soldiers from the Legion approached them. Standing out among them was a tall man with short grey hair and sharp features wearing a gilded version of the Imperial armor with the Imperial dragon proudly exhibited on his chest. He bowed to the couple and smiled slightly, but there was no warmth in his eyes and in the firm stance that he took.

"Greetings," he said. Farkhali felt a flood of negative emotions taking over her momentarily, anger swirling wildly together with hatred, despair and anguish. "My name is Tullius and I have been assigned to lead the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. With all due respect, I would like to ask of you in the name of the Legion to kindly provide us with all the commodities necessary to enable our further advance on the Stormcloak holds. It is in your own interest to do so, as you will gain protection and special privileges, as well as glory worthy of war heroes. Should you, however, refuse to support us, then, by the Imperial law under the authority of Emperor Titus Mede II., the Legion will be forced to take legal action to prevent any further disobedience of this kind."

"In other words, you're threatening us," the Argonian man stated dryly.

"You must understand we do this for the good of the people of Skyrim. And that also includes you."

"We do not share the same opinion, General," the father said. "Leave. You are not welcome here."

"You will let us stay," Tullius breathed, and a threat hung in the air, clear as the day.

"We will most certainly not. We do not support this war."

"Then you are blind fools who do not deserve to live in this land. The Legion will be taking it for its own."

"You don't have the right to do this!" the woman spoke for the first time, her sharp, crispy voice carrying to distance. "We bought it to live a peaceful life here!"

"And yet you refuse to let the liberators help you keep your peace?"

"Are you telling me you're _fighting_ for peace?" the man grumbled. "What nonsense. Get out. Now."

"If you're not willing to host us, you will give us your farm."

"Not in your dreams. This is our land and you are trespassing. Get. Out. Now."

The man in the shiny polished armor who had first spoken to the couple stepped up, his fists clenched and an irate scowl on his face. "You dare call the Imperials trespassers?" he whispered dangerously.

"Yes, you are nothing but foul trespassers and deserve nothing more than to rot in Oblivion!" the woman snarled. The man grabbed her wrist in an instant and twisted it, tossing her to the ground. She cried out and so did her husband who tried to press himself in between the two antagonists. Another soldier pulled him away and pinned him to the ground.

"No!" the girl in the barn yelled. The eyes of the legionnaires turned her way.

"What was that?" Tullius asked, setting for the barn.

"A… a pig," the woman stammered.

"That was no pig," he drawled. "Let's see…"

The girl staggered backwards the moment the door slammed open, staring at the tall man before her in horror. He snorted and grabbed her by the collar, dragging her ruthlessly toward the group of people on the field. Aside from an avalanche of raging emotions, Farkhali now felt physical pain as well, as the tightened collar prevented the girl from breathing freely and the ground below tore her skin, creating innumerable tiny wounds.

"No, please! Not my daughter!" the woman pleaded.

"Ma…" the girl moaned in a thin voice and Farkhali could feel hot tears sliding down her cheeks.

"General, what shall we do with them?" the soldier who was holding down the father asked, his eyes fixated on his captive.

"Teach them respect," Tullius uttered coolly. "But… preserve them."

A hand rose above the girl but Farkhali suddenly felt herself being pulled out of the memory, darkness spreading before her eyes. She gasped as she felt countless emotions burst inside her head, but then the alien presence left her and she was in the room again, squinting as the light around her blinded her. Her captor was gripping a pillar, panting and staring at her with a savage look in her eyes.

"You…" she hissed. "How dare you…"

Farkhali's expression hardened despite shaking heavily herself. "Release me," she said quietly. "You have no chance of winning a mental fight against me."

"You'll pay…"

"You're weak," the Khajiit continued. "A weak, blind, hatred driven cretin who would do anything to exact her revenge, even if it meant associating herself with exactly the same kind of people as the one you despise so much. You are so weak that you will never find what you seek."

"Silence," the Hunter snapped, pressing her fingers to the stone convulsively. "You will not tell me…"

Farkhali could sense her uncertainty. Without the feeling of triumph, without the slightest feeling of satisfaction, she used the last bit of her energy to activate her spell and tug at her opponent's weakness.

"Release me," she said calmly. The Hunter looked up and their eyes met. Farkhali locked her in her gaze and forced all her will onto her, not bothering with restraining herself. "The elves won't help you achieve anything. They won't even let you."

"I…"

"You must…" Farkhali took a deep breath. Maintaining the spell was difficult and she felt her mind drifting away slowly. She clenched her fists and her nails dug into the skin on her palms, causing her to wince again. "You must let go…"

The Hunter stood up shakily. Hesitantly, she pressed two invisible buttons on the pillar. The light faded and Farkhali found herself falling to the ground. She let out a shriek as she hit the ground, but did not let herself rest upon it. Shakily, she rose on her elbows and tripped the Argonian, making her sink beside her. The Hunter snarled and bared her teeth like a beast. Farkhali quickly grabbed the whip lying just a few feet from her and smashed its handle against her head. Her opponent lost consciousness almost immediately.

Breathing heavily, the Khajiit searched through her pockets. Not able to find anything, she took the wand the Argonian had been gripping and crept out of the room. A pair of footsteps was clapping silently through the corridor she found herself in. She crawled in the shadows, using them to explore the area. Not too far from her was a trapdoor and she hurried towards it. She had a difficult time opening it with her trembling fingers, but at last, she squeezed herself into the gap which opened before her. As she shut the door again, her hand slipped and she fell down from the metal ladder, hitting the cold stone floor underneath.

Her senses registered the sound of dripping water echoing through the sewer before her body finally gave in and darkness spread around her.

* * *

 _*prepares for a shower of rotten eggs and insults aimed at her direction*_

 _Well… this was originally supposed to be only a half of the chapter, but since my hand just kept writing and the words almost materialized before me, it ended up like this. I was thinking of writing a separate fanfic featuring Farkhali's childhood and her path to the Thieves Guild (probably M rated), but I'm not sure if I'm going to find the time to do that. Anyway, if you're still wondering – as strange as it might seem, Farkhali comes indeed from Hammerfell._

 _As for Tullius… you might have noticed I don't like the guy. In my opinion, he's no different from Ulfric and I honestly hated him in the game, so this is a little manifestation of my approach. I think he might be even worse, since Ulfric seemed kind of straightforward while Tullius adopted the modern politician style with all the scheming and sly deceit. Well, but Aislinn definitely didn't choose to fight for Tullius himself. And, after reading more of my fanfic, you might come to not like him either. :D_

 _I'll try to write the next chapter as soon as possible since I know exactly what I want to put in there but I'm not sure how fast I'm going to manage it with all the school stuff going on. That said, many thanks to everyone who reviewed or PMed me and supported me. I finally got over some stuff and got on my feet again, so hopefully I'm going to stay that way. Also, many thanks to dart for being always there for me, not only when it comes to beta reading my stories._

 _I would also like to apologize for my previous outbursts concerning your reviews. I think I might have taken my own story too seriously. Now that I have so much stuff to do and only write when I have time and when I'm not too tired to, I'm starting to appreciate the mere process of writing and putting my ideas "on the paper". I'm sorry I was so depressed for not getting reviews. However, I'm still very happy for every review I get and I'd be thrilled to chat with you about (not only) my story if you're ever interested._

 _Pietersielie:_ _Wow, you find Bryn and Ardy sleazy and distasteful? :o Now that's slightly disturbing, it seems I wrote them differently than I thought. Well then… what shall I do with that? :D_

 _Twillin:_ _We all like dragons. And cats. :D  
I daresay Ardur is interesting, yeah. And essential, although Aislinn doesn't know that yet. I kinda thought him and Tye up one day, fantasizing about something in my story, without the real intention to actually put them there and publish it. But before I knew it, I was developing their characters further and thinking up stories from their past and soon I considered them a proper part of the story. And so they ended up meeting Aislinn for real. :D  
Many thanks for your wishes! I think I'm better now. Dunno how long it's going to last but I'll try to take better care of myself. Hope you're faring well yourself. ^^_

 _Thanks to everyone for supporting me, reviewing, favoriting and following the story! Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	38. Dragon Time: Battle for Windhelm

**Chapter 38: Dragon Time: Battle for Windhelm**

The figure of General Tullius loomed over the rocky, mountainous land of the Reach. He was standing on a wide stone ledge which was spreading like a stage above the valley where a crowd of innumerous people was waiting. Or, to be precise, they were _supposed to_ be waiting, Gulum-Ei, who was watching the whole scene, thought sardonically. His idea of waiting did not quite apply to the rowdy swarm of men who were shouting and screaming, brawling with each other or simply pounding their chests. They were mostly covered in pelts, some of them wearing antler crowns or helmets, and all of them had their bodies painted in rich colors. Gulum-Ei smirked in amusement, watching the Imperial General march back and forth disconcertedly. He was quite curious about how this man was going to deal with the situation. Still, the fact that he had not given up so far was commendable already.

"I am here," a voice announced. Both Tullius and Gulum-Ei turned to face Madanach, the king of the Forsworn, who arrived with more grace than one would have expected of the leader of the infamous Madmen of the Reach. "I don't understand what you want from me, _General_."

"I did not ask you to come for nothing," Tullius smiled, and Gulum-Ei watched that grin sourly. "I'm going to lead your men now, but you're the one they trust. It is only right that you stand by my side when I talk to them."

"If you think so," Madanach sighed.

"Tell me, Your Highness. What is it that these men desire? Is it glory? Fame? Prosperity?"

"None of these matter to the Forsworn," the king replied. "History should be your guide. After all, these men are originally Nords."

Tullius nodded. He looked around, examining the land, his eyes sliding over the surrounding mountains in slow motion. Then he studied the valley below, and finally his gaze turned to himself, scrutinizing his own armor. He wiped away a leaf which had stuck to his sleeve and cleared his throat.

"People of the Reach," he addressed the crowd in a clear voice. Gulum-Ei nodded appreciatively as the General's words carried over the valley and echoed in the mountains on the other side. The wind was his ally and Gulum-Ei was certain that Tullius was aware of it. The men in the valley raised their heads, some more eagerly and some less, but they all did. The Argonian shook his head. It did not even take a full sentence. "We are gathered here today to prepare for the bright tomorrow. Tomorrow, we take the Reach. Tomorrow, we initiate our march on Markarth."

There was a lukewarm reception to his words, but Tullius did not seem discouraged. He paused for a brief moment before continuing. "His Highness, King Madanach, has entrusted me with leading you to the battle. You might question why he did that, but I assure you that this time, victory is the only way. We will not fight for the mere joy from the battle, nor will we fight just so we don't stay idle. Tomorrow, we fight for victory!"

A few voices raised and scattered cheers issued from the crowd, but the reaction was still somewhat dissatisfying. At least that was what Gulum-Ei thought, but the Imperial General still did not seem to mind at all.

"This time, we join our forces to chase out our enemy. They will pay for what they did to Skyrim, and the land will be free again. You will gain your freedom, with everything that goes with it. The Reach will be yours!"

Gulum-Ei blinked and gave the General an intense, pensive look. Suddenly, a storm of cheers arose from the crowd. He had finally gained their trust. Tullius sidestepped and took Madanach's hand, raising it in the air. Another wave of cheers echoed through the valley. They believed the General's words completely.

A long, detailed explanation on the invasion plan followed and Gulum-Ei only listened to it partially, for he was never good with war, battles or strategy. The only thing which he found slightly interesting was the fact that Tullius was serious about organizing this lot, and to the Argonian's amazement, no one seemed to oppose him. When the crowd had finally grown restless again, Tullius ceased his speech and left the natural stage with his back straightened and his eyes only looking forward. He beckoned to Gulum-Ei without meeting his gaze, and the lizard man followed him hesitantly. They entered a shallow cave on the side of the ledge and Tullius seated himself on a temporary stone bench, propping his back against the wall behind him.

"So?" he asked.

The Argonian raised a brow and said nothing.

"What do you think?" the General asked with an undertone of impatience in his voice.

"About what?"

"My speech, of course."

"It was… impressive," Gulum-Ei said with a wide smile.

"Impressive? That's all?"

"Then what do you want to hear, General?"

"Let's see… yes, this. What do you think of my promise to give them the Reach?"

 _Damn you, Tullius, so this is where you're going with it? Did you say that to gain their attention or to corner me?_ Gulum-Ei thought angrily. Nevertheless, he kept his innocent look and the corners of his mouth stayed curled up. "It was nice. Very skillful wording. I'm sure it made quite an impression."

Tullius pressed his lips tightly together and gave him a thoughtful look. After a moment of gazing at each other, the General spoke again. "Is that so," he said simply. And without another word, he rose from his seat and left the room. Gulum-Ei stared at him apprehensively.

A few moments after, he spotted the Imperial in the company of the former Jarl of Solitude. Deciding not to take any risks, he carefully scanned his surroundings, sneaking silently past the Forsworn guards and a few Imperials who were staying at a safe distance from the savage Madmen. The road led him to a stony hollow where he hid behind a group of rocks, straining his ears for the conversation which was certain to follow. And surely, just as he settled down, he heard Elisif's voice.

"Tullius, this is very risky. If a bandit group finds us here…"

"There are no bandits nowadays, Elisif," Tullius brushed her off. "The only prey roaming the land would be the Thalmor, and not even they are so foolish as to pick a fight with them. And the Thalmor won't come here. They have no reason to."

"So?" she said reluctantly. "Why did you bring me here?"

"Calm yourself, Elisif. I have a special task for you. You'll finally get to be useful, as you wished."

"What is it?"

"I need you to use your charms and get on the good side of that Argonian."

"Gulum-Ei? You want me to flirt with a dumb _Argonian_?" Her voice was full of outrage.

"You don't need to flirt with him, just make him trust you. And don't let yourself be fooled, he's not half as dumb as he looks."

"Why, Tullius? Why must we resort to this?"

"Because he knows more than he should. If he tries to–"

"Please, can we not do this? He's trying to help us…"

"You know far too well that his kind only ever helps themselves," Tullius said patiently. "Elisif, this is important. I need you to do something in case he turns against us."

"What is it, Tullius?" Elisif sighed in resignation.

"Kill him."

* * *

Several hundreds of tents stood empty among the trees on the southern side of Eastmarch as their occupants, clad in the yellow armors of the Whiterun hold, picked up their weapons and ranked into smaller units under their captains' command. Jarl Balgruuf watched as they marched, the field of yellow slowly mixing with Riften's purple. Some of them were operating war machines, mostly trebuchets, but there were also a few ballistae. Farengar was hopping merrily around a cannon he had devised himself, although Balgruuf prayed that he would not have to use it. He sighed, remembering Aislinn's performance during the Battle for Whiterun. Single-handedly she had been able to turn the tides in his favor. Oh how he wished she could be there with him and demonstrate her dance of death again, making the waves of enemies fall before her as she Shouted in the rhythm of her pace. But he would have to manage without her this time, knowing that she was trying her best to save Skyrim somewhere else, alone or with just a handful of friends. He did everything he could think of to encourage his men, and Legate Marcus did the same, but he could see there was still insecurity in his ranks, and it increased every day that they had to wait for the upcoming battle. Soon, the waiting would be over and they would finally march on Windhelm, but would the men last even a few hours? Would they have the will to hold up and seize the city?

He put on his armor and readied himself. Were it up to him, he would stand at the foremost of his army, commanding it forward in a voice clear as the skies above and full of hope. But of course Proventus and Irileth would not let him. That was what they were there for in the end, so he could hardly blame them.

"Ready?" Proventus's voice came from behind when Balgruuf strapped his sword to his waist and a sturdy steel shield with a relief of the Whiterun horse in its middle to his back.

"How could I ever be ready for this?" the Jarl sighed and his steward laughed bitterly.

"Marcus sent a courier earlier. We're waiting for a signal, apparently. I thought we were sending a herald."

"To meet the Thalmor?" Balgruuf snorted. "That's pure folly, my friend. He wouldn't make it past the White River."

"All right," Proventus nodded slowly. "So here is Marcus's plan."

He explained in detail what the courier had told him, with Balgruuf nodding after each sentence of his in silence.

"Balgruuf," Proventus said at last, looking at the Jarl with concern. The Nord stopped his motion and looked at him. "You only need to think about the battle right now. It's not like you can do anything to help the Dragonborn. Or anyone else."

"I know… I know but it's hard not to think about it. Even if we win this battle, what if she doesn't come back? Or what if they get all the other cities meanwhile?"

The steward put his hands on Balgruuf's shoulders firmly, looking into his light blue eyes. "There is no _if_ in this equation, Balgruuf. We go and win. We take Windhelm today. And that's all that matters for now."

"All right," said the Jarl, exhaling deeply. "Let's go then."

They paced quickly through the camp, making their way to an elevated area before the gathered soldiers. Marcus, along with two of his men, was waiting for them there, as well as Irileth. Proventus beckoned to Balgruuf, inviting him to step beside them.

"This is where you shine," he said with a wide grin. Balgruuf grimaced sourly.

"At times like this, I wished I had some of Ulfric's love for attention," he sighed. "Gods know he loved speeches."

"A dog is only truly loyal to its master, they say," Proventus countered with a wink. "You're you, Ulfric was Ulfric. He loved speeches. You love justice. Fight for what you love."

"I think I'll charge you with writing a chronicle when this is all over," Balgruuf snorted. "Maybe you'll spare me your wisdom when it's all used up in the text."

"By all means," Proventus bowed. "Anything to spur my imagination further."

The Jarl groaned and joined his housecarl and the Imperial Legate waiting for him on the hill. They both nodded and he responded with a nod of his own, turning to face the restless crowd. Without a warning, Legate Marcus stepped closer and raised his hand, causing the army to burst in a storm of cheers. Surprisingly, the men from Riften cheered both louder and longer than Balgruuf's army, and he felt slightly ashamed of the fact. He frowned a little but suppressed it immediately, hoping that no one had noticed it. He took a deep breath.

"Thank, you, Marcus," he said, waving in the general direction of the crowd. "And thank you, _all_ of you who have gathered here today to fight for your homeland. Every single one of you is going to write history today. On this day, we take Windhelm, which was unjustly taken away by the menace known as the Thalmor. The day we all have been waiting for has finally come, the hour is nigh and soon, the air with fill with our battle cry and the stench of our sweat and blood. And we will gladly give both to save our land. We will fight to the last man, for there is no other way for us than victory. And on this day, I say these words to you. For freedom! For Skyrim! For Talos!"

Balgruuf drew his sword and raised it high up in the air in one swing and every man followed him, shouting now proudly "For freedom! For Skyrim! For Talos!"

Marcus smiled at the mention of Talos's name. Balgruuf assumed the Imperial Legate had not expected him to use his name, being brought up to absolute Talos abstinence, but he knew far too well that it had been a long time since the proud Nords of Skyrim could fearlessly call to their god, and they had missed him dearly. Now this time of divine loneliness was over. They would fight with his name on their lips and his spirit by their side. In the end, they still had a dragon to shield them. He smiled to himself.

Soon after, the army split and the small units of yellow and purple scattered around. At the front were a number of footmen in heavy armor carrying large shields to protect the light-armored soldiers behind them. At their center a number of people carried a large battering ram. At the sides of their unit were archers and swordsmen, ready to charge at the first sight of an elf. Two other units split from the main body and headed to the sides, rounding the city in a wide circle. Three other units in light armor designed for swimming positioned themselves between the deserted stables and the Brandy-Mug Farm, their eyes fixed on the docks on the other side of the river, where a number of hooded figures and a few elven men in gilded armors stood at the ready. The army slowly moved around the city, staying just outside of the firing range, and a few groups of men readied their war machines. While Balgruuf waited on the road leading southward, shielded by rocks and his own elite unit, Marcus settled by the Hlaalu farm, both ready to give orders when necessary. Several more units were lined up in the adjacent valleys and hollows as a reserve.

Everyone stilled themselves, waiting. Tension was in the air. The alliance of Nords and Imperial soldiers was gazing at the impenetrable walls of Windhelm, feeling the elven eyes upon them. They were barely breathing, watching every movement with unease. Time passed and the sun made its way high up on the sky. Balgruuf felt a streak of sweat brush his brow and course down his cheek and frowned. He could almost feel his men's morale fading. They had to attack soon, or there would be no courage left in their hearts. On the other hand, the weather was a welcome news. It gave them tremendous advantage since the elves would always have to face the sun.

He looked to the skies above the city, as blue as his eyes, rippled by a few scattered cloudlets of white. The silence and anxiety threatened to crush him, more so when he noticed that even the birds had retreated from the sky. He furrowed his brows. The beasts of Skyrim were no fools and they had the ability to sense a forthcoming battle, but even then, there were always the crows and falcons flying far above the shooting range of any weapon, and the scavengers, cautiously waiting for their chance. This time, not a single bird was around, not a single flap of the wings could be heard. It was too quiet. Something was wrong.

He turned to Irileth at the same moment she turned to him, both opening their mouths to speak up, but before they could, several things happened at once.

The air above Windhelm burst in yellow light, but Balgruuf did not even need to remember what it meant as a dragon flew past the mountain shielding its northern edge, leaving behind a wide trail of steam. Still, it was yellow, not red. Something made Karliah, the Dunmer informant who was charged with signaling them, as he had been told, believe they could still win the battle.

The soldiers cried out and he could hear from afar that Marcus started singing. His men joined him quickly and the Jarl smiled. In the short time that he had known the Legate, he had learnt to respect him greatly for his ability to keep his men in good spirits. He always walked proud and spoke with confidence, firmly but kindly at the same time. He was not afraid to step out of his comfort zone and abandon his warm baths and quality meals to show his men that he too could endure, but still drew a clear line between himself and his subordinates. He was what Balgruuf would describe as an ideal leader. Before he knew it, even the Jarl was singing, his voice carrying through the valley and encouraging the now advancing men.

A cone of fire shot at the units closest to the bridge leading to the main gate, and a volley of arrows supported it. The soldiers raised their shields to protect themselves, but they could barely stop the dragon magic from causing damage. The men screamed and a few ran around in chaos, some ablaze.

"My Jarl," Irileth spoke urgently. "What are your orders?"

"The men must not give up," Balgruuf said sternly. "Tell Farengar he needs to do something about the magic. We knew from the beginning what we stand against, a dragon shouldn't be much worse than a number of mages. He'll have some tricks up his sleeve."

"A number of _flying_ mages," Irileth scowled. "All right, I'm on it."

"Be careful," Balgruuf nodded and watched the Dunmer scurry away. Soon after, a group of men in light hide armors bustled around and spread in the wide area. These were Farengar's elite runners with little fighting potential, but incredibly mobile and flexible. The mage had been preparing for this day more intensely than anyone else and Balgruuf hoped it was well worth it. It seemed to him as though he had been gathering all sorts of magical trinkets and pretty much anything that could contain magic, but their purpose remained a mystery to the Jarl. He knew little about magic and preferred to leave the arcane matters to his friend. He watched the runners with interest as they zigzagged through the battlefield and dodged whatever blow came their way. Then, his eyes found the waiting elves on the watchtowers and the raised platforms on the sides of the bridge, still and on the alert. He bit his lip and turned to Proventus.

"Let the men know they are to attack the elves. Ignore the dragon, Farengar will deal with it."

"Balgruuf, this is madness," Proventus opposed. "That beast will burn them alive and…"

"Look at them, Proventus. They are waiting until we wear ourselves out while they do nothing. If we try to kill the beast first, they're going to have the advantage and they know it. Strike when the iron is hot. They're expecting us to be preoccupied with the dragon. Let's prove them wrong."

The steward sighed and shook his head in resignation. "I hope you know what you're doing, my friend. There are no second chances when it comes to war."

Balgruuf decided not to answer to that. Deep inside, he was thinking the same thing, but to express it would mean to reveal he was indeed risking the lives of his men. Could anyone ever admit such a thing openly?

Proventus rushed into the fray to inform the generals of the new plan while Farengar's men finally settled around the place. The Jarl watched as they spread their arms, all of them holding a shiny object in each of their hands. Without much thinking, Balgruuf knew these were soul gems, filled with magical power to amplify the spell Farengar was about to cast. The wizard himself was standing in a magic circle made of glittering soul gem dust, and all around him were gleaming scribbles in the Daedric script. He raised his hands and closed his eyes, and for a while the tips of his fingers glowed in soft yellow light. Then, the circle around him burst in white flames which shot in all directions, connecting to the soul gems in the runners' hands and then creating a glowing cage above the soldiers' heads. Suddenly, the fire coming from the depths of the dragon's maw was reflected back, hitting the very beast who had produced it. It roared, more in anger than in pain, and backed away slightly. Balgruuf's eyes widened when it advanced on the soldiers again, unwillingly as if pushed by an invisible force. On the second thought, it seemed more like it was running away from something in the city. Whatever the elves used to control it, the beast did not like it. The Jarl felt his muscles tense up.

Irileth appeared by his side shortly, panting and covered in dust and even tiny splatters of blood but seemingly content. "That old grump is not bad at all," she said in appreciation. "Hopefully, this will give the men a bit of courage."

"I don't want to see what's going to happen if the runners are taken down though," Balgruuf said, watching the battlefield. The first line struck at the bridge and the first elf was shot down from one of the watchtowers, but at the same time, one Whiterun archer was badly wounded while a footman on the front line fell to the feet of an elven mage who only smirked in satisfaction before seeking another opponent. Balgruuf's hand reached to his waist and squeezed the hilt of his sword. How he hated just watching.

"That won't be so easy," Irileth smiled. "According to Farengar, they can move however they need once the shield is formed."

Balgruuf nodded, his eyes not leaving the battlefield for a second. The elves were pushed back slowly but surely, but the dragon above their heads was relentless and it seemed to the Jarl that the shield was slowly weakening. He did not know much about dragons and so he could not tell whether the reflected fire was weaker than it had originally been or the dragon's resistance against it was that high, but it did not change the fact that the beast did not take much damage from it. It worried him. If all Farengar's efforts were to be wasted on a dragon, they had no chance of fending off the elven mages.

First soldiers in yellow managed to break through the enemy lines and make their way up to the bridge platforms, charging at the elves. The Thalmor, however, did not seem to mind them at all. Those who were still standing simply took a dive into the cold waters below, causing the Nords and Imperials to stagger and bump into each other in surprise. Many of them paid for the moment of carelessness with their lives as the archers and mages in the enemy backlines fired at them immediately. Balgruuf cussed in his head. That was a smart move from the elves. Of course they would be able to swim in their robes and light armors, while his own men could not risk the possibly deadly fall. He should have taken this into account.

The battle was lengthy and exhausting. The sun was way over its midpoint when the allied armies of Whiterun and Riften managed to close on the enemy, but it felt wrong. It seemed as though the elves always managed to lure the invaders to a place where they wanted them and evaded their attacks skillfully, slowly driving them towards the city. Farengar's magic grew weaker too as he started to run out of soul gems and other trinkets filled with magic. A heavy lump settled in Balgruuf's throat. He turned to Irileth and expressed his fears. She let out a weary sigh.

"I'm not sure if we can fight elves in the way of the Nords," she said. "We have our pride and justice, but they won't care about that. Elves are still elves, no matter what color their skin is, and I was around them long enough to learn that they would do anything to achieve what they want. And when I say anything, I mean _anything_. Scheming, tricks, plotting and deceit, it's all in their blood. Most of the Nords find these things repulsive, but sometimes it might not be so bad to learn the ways of your enemy."

"I could never…" Balgruuf said with his eyes wide in disbelief.

"I'm not saying you should be like them," the housecarl shook her head. "But you could learn how to think like them in order to defeat them."

The Jarl exhaled deeply, his fingers sliding along the hilt of his sword. "I will… think about it." He looked up and frowned with worry when the magical shield above shook unsteadily. "Irileth, go and form a unit of archers from our reserves. That dragon needs to be dealt with as soon as possible," he ordered.

"As you command, my Jarl," she replied with a theatrical bow. Balgruuf grimaced.

The housecarl trotted among the soldiers, seeking the spare units. She called to the archers, separating them from the rest and leading them forward. After positioning themselves by the river bank, a volley of arrows fired from their bows directly at the dragon who roared with pain and anger. The shield reflected its onslaught and the beast was not foolish enough to swoop down among the many soldiers which would surely mean its death. It started flying around frantically, but for some reason it avoided getting close to the city.

At the same moment, Balgruuf's men finally broke through the elven defenses on the bridge and climbed up on the platforms, throwing ropes down to the rest of the unit who quickly tied them to the battering ram. Down at the river, a few groups of Imperial supporters were fighting elves in gilded armors in attempt to enable their comrades to set up more sieging devices. Men in purple were slowly moving the trebuchets towards the city on the east side of the bridge, shielding themselves from the attacks of the elves waiting in the docks. An occasional salve of arrows came at the hooded figures in reply, but the Thalmor easily blocked them with their wards.

Balgruuf watched as three elves, one of them dark-skinned, separated themselves from the rest of the fighting group under the bridge and darted westward. They barely paid attention to their surroundings, shielding themselves with protective spells and dodging most of the incoming attacks. Then, all three of them raised their hands at once and fired a spell. Balgruuf's eyes followed their designated path and his eyes widened.

"Godsdammit, no!" he cried out in horror. "Irileth!"

He drew his sword at once, grabbed his shield and flew like an arrow towards his housecarl. Men around him started shouting and calling his name, but he ignored them. Almost miraculously he dodged two incoming fire bolts and squeezed by two Breton men in purple fighting against a few Thalmor, his eyes fixed on his Dunmer friend who collapsed as her leg was pierced by an ice spike. He jumped to her and caught the next one with his shield.

"For the love of Talos, Balgruuf, get out of here!" Irileth yelled, clenching her fists and hissing in pain.

"Not even if Oblivion comes!" he shouted in reply.

"For gods' sake, I'm your housecarl! I'm supposed to protect _you_!"

"And you're also my friend!" he countered and grabbed her arm, rolling to the side as a fire bolt flew past them.

"Balgruuf, please!" Irileth cried. "You can't do anything here!"

"Let's get out of here!" He put her arm around his shoulders and started walking away, towards his own unit where Irileth originally belonged, but as soon as they did, two arrows were fired in their direction. Balgruuf's eyes widened as Irileth sent him to the ground, covering him with her own body. Before he even touched the cold rock below, the arrows buried themselves in her back and their tips emerged on the other side of her body, one through her neck, the other through her chest. She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Balgruuf stared at her, holding his breath. The next few moments seemed like eternity to him. He stretched out his hands as her body fell on his, pressing her against his chest. This was not true. It could not be.

"Baalgruuf…" Irileth whispered hoarsely and a stream of blood made its way from the corner of her mouth down her cheek.

"No," he shook his head fiercely. "Don't speak. Don't say anything, I'm going to–"

"I'm beyond helping, Balgruuf… just…"

"No…"

"Live…"

"Irileth…"

"…and return my body to the ashes."

"Irileth!"

The housecarl smiled at him. "Finally, I was of some use to you." With that, her body grew heavy, her hands hanging down limply.

"Why…" Balgruuf moaned silently. "Why?!"

Another arrow flew past him. There was no time to think. He let Irileth's body slide down along his. A few smudges of blood appeared on his armor, but he did not mind them. Gripping his sword and his shield tightly, he stood up, facing his enemies. His unit surrounded him shortly with Proventus in the lead, and he beckoned to them to follow him.

"Balgruuf, please," Proventus begged, "do not let her sacrifice be in vain."

"I will not," Balgruuf snarled silently. "She will be avenged. Ten times!"

With that, the Jarl darted forward. He first headed to the three mages who had attacked Irileth first, dodging every shot of theirs with unmatched speed. Proventus was by his side at once, shielding him from side attacks while Balgruuf fought the elves ferociously, dealing one critical blow after another. His startled opponents had little time to resist before they fell into the water with a loud splash. Balgruuf did not stop for a moment after slaying them and proceeded past the bridge. Proventus called to him a few times in attempt to stop him, but the Jarl had gone berserk, beyond any control. The steward let out an exhausted sigh and commanded the unit to group around Balgruuf and protect him from anything that might get in their way.

They stepped on a temporary floating wooden platform Marcus's men had put together a while before and joined the Imperials fighting there. Balgruuf was blind and deaf to anything but his enemies, but his performance was commendable. One after another the Thalmor fell under his blade with him gaining just a few scratches before the platform was clear. The Imperials did not waste any time and moved it towards the docks immediately after. Then, a horrified shriek cut through the air and made even Balgruuf raise his head.

At first, he thought a rain of rocks was coming down on their heads. "Watch out!" he heard someone cry as he put up his shield. The rain fell down and he heard a number of cracks and thuds. Then his eyes rested upon what was lying beneath his feet and like many others, he screamed with horror.

It was a head. Balgruuf turned away before he could think of whose it was, shaking in dread, anger and grief. Everywhere around him, soldiers were shaking their heads violently and backing away. They were losing their hope and resolve, running away from the horrors their enemy had prepared for them. His face twisted in fury and he straightened his back. It would not end like this. He would see to it that it did not.

"Fight, Children of Skyrim!" he called in a strong voice and his words carried to every ally of his. "Fight until the last man standing, fight to avenge your fallen comrades and the men who passed under the cruel rule of the Thalmor. Fight for glory and freedom, so our ancestors in Sovngarde can bear our name proudly! Do not be afraid, for Talos is with us, and he will guide us to victory!"

There was a moment of silence when neither a man nor an elf moved or produced a sound. Even the dragon above seemed to cease its movement and stayed still despite the many injuries it had suffered. And then, as though someone set the time back to motion, everyone moved and roared and the opposing hordes clashed fiercely.

Little time had passed until another distraction came in shape of a second huge winged shadow cast over the fighting swarms of men, Mer and occasional beastfolk. Balgruuf slowly raised his head in apprehension, watching as the weary archers nocked arrows in their bows and narrowed their eyes to take a good aim. He opened his mouth to cuss, but noticed the elves widening their eyes in the same way his own men did. Were they… afraid?

He took a good look at the dragon. It swooped to the ground, heading right in the middle of the battlefield, proud and fearless, and in the afternoon sun, its scales glistened in crimson. A memory flashed before Balgruuf's eyes and he gasped.

"Stop!" he shouted at his men abruptly. "Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

"Balgruuf, have you gone completely insane?!" Proventus yelled, but the Jarl did not listen. He almost swam through the crowd of people, now mostly still, his gaze fixed on the dragon who dodged a few spells and arrows elegantly, descending in a wide spiral. It went through the shield of magic and sank to a quickly vacated spot by the bridge, its head turned to Balgruuf who had just arrived.

"Long time no see, Jarl Balgruuf," the dragon said and shot what Balgruuf could only describe as a very nasty look at Farengar. The wizard's eyes widened and a hint of shame appeared in his face.

"You're the one we caught when Aislinn…"

"That is correct. And normally, I would try to eat you alive for a _sod_ like that. You should thank the Dovakhiin that I am here at this moment."

"Divines bless her," Balgruuf exhaled. "In the end, I always end up depending on her." Several hundreds of feet from him, the battle began anew.

"Do come aboard," the dragon invited. "The Dovakhiin made it quite clear that the leader of an army should have proper respect in battle. And what better way of gaining respect is there than to have wings and observe the situation from above."

"What? You mean I should… ride you?"

"A _joor_ does not _ride_ a _dovah_. A _dovah_ kindly permits a _joor_ to sit on his back. Be thankful."

"I, uh… thank you, uh…"

"Odahviing. Remember this name, for it is now a part of your history."

Balgruuf nodded and clumsily climbed Odahviing's side, his hands and feet slipping on the smooth surface of the scales. The dragon let out a sound that closely resembled a snort and the Jarl scowled. A wing curled towards him to help him get on Odahviing's back, and once he was finally seated quite uncomfortably on his neck, the reptile spread his wings and took to the sky. Balgruuf gasped and looked around in awe. He raised his sword and roared inarticulately, and the men on the ground below cheered and charged at their enemies with new vigor. The view from the top was amazing, be it the sunlit mountain peaks with shiny white caps of snow, the shimmering river winding its way through the valleys, the sea that spread on the eastern horizon or the proud city that presented itself in all its glory before him. He smiled. So Aislinn knew this feeling. No wonder she had so much respect for the dragonkind.

"Hold tight, little _joor_ ," Odahviing warned him. "We are now going to teach a lesson to the fool who dares to defy the Dovakhiin." And without further delay, he sped up and mounted an assault on the helpless dragon who had just barely managed to rid itself of the attacking archers.

* * *

 _Uff. I'm not good at writing battles. I'm ultimately bad at strategy (or more like I don't know anything about it) so I cheated the chapter as much as I could. I purposely made Balgruuf make many mistakes so he would have the seed of guilt planted in his heart. As for why I'm doing that… well, for the sake of a silly side story of his that you're going to learn later._

 _Some of you might wonder how Odahviing made it here so fast. Well, it wasn't_ _ **that**_ _fast, actually. He made it in about nine hours from Bruma, which, considering he could fly Aislinn across most of Skyrim within, let's say, five or six hours and from Riften to Bruma in a storm in about four hours, is quite slow. As to when they agreed on him helping in Windhelm, I kind of made myself a backdoor by purposely leaving out the whole conversation before their flight through the storm. So there. :D_

 _Now the question is whether I should include Odahviing's point of view in the following chapters as well. There probably wouldn't be too much of it, but I have thought up several options for writing the next few parts, so I'd like to hear your opinion on that. Do you think it's a good idea? Or should I stick to the joor and leave the dovah's way of thinking a mystery?_

 _As for the title of this chapter, let it be a tribute to TwillinOfTheWillows, my first reviewer who has never failed to comment on a single chapter of this story, always made me happy with her reviews and became somewhat a soulmate to me. This is to you, Twillin, and the dragon time which you always enjoy. ^^_

 _Pietersielie:_ _I'm happy you liked the chapter! And I kind of hope you're not too disappointed by my opinion on Tullius. I just can't bring myself to like the guy, even though I might add a bit of a reason why he's like that in the story. Nothing is ever that simple, is it? :D_

 _Twillin:_ _Yeah, I'm biased as well. I shouldn't, as the author, should I? But I can't help it. And I'm pretty sure people would hate me if anything happened to Farkhali. :D Though she's going to take quite some time recovering from this one…_

 _Jakeice10:_ _I'm sorry I didn't reply to your last comment two chapters ago. I didn't reply to anyone at that time because I just felt horrible, but that's not your fault. So I apologize for the delay. I'm still happy you liked the chapter. :)_

 _As always, thanks_ _dart0808_ _for the beta. (It's not like I wrote "flied" instead of "flew"… it's not, really! –omgwtfdoessheevenenglish-)_

 _Well then. Thanks for all the reviews, favs and follows. Stay tuned. ^^_

 _Mirwen_


	39. Enter Daedra!

_A freaking long chapter this time. Twice as long as my longest ones, but I really wanted to take the story to that point at the end of it, so I hope you like it. Though you might not appreciate the cliffhanger… oops! Well, enjoy the chapter. Here it is. :D_

* * *

 **Chapter 39: Enter Daedra!**

"Prove yourself? Against a dragon?" Ardur shook his head derisively. "Don't make me laugh."

"We're used to fighting dragons in Skyrim. It's really no big deal anymore." Aislinn carefully put the exact same amount of contempt in her look as the Nord gave her, supporting it with a shrug.

"I would appreciate if you stayed out of our way for a while," he hissed through gritted teeth and turned to the Nord in the shiny armor he had addressed before as Somnir.

"Does the Countess know about this?" he asked him.

"Not yet, no. I came here as soon as I heard the news."

"Then let's head to the castle first. She should know about this as soon as possible."

"This lady seems to know something about dragons," Somnir nodded towards Aislinn. "Why not hear her out?"

"This _lady_ should not be let to say or do _anything_ , Somnir. She just got into the city by sneaking past _your_ men."

"Like many," Somnir said with a sigh and an angry vein popped out on Ardur's temple. "Once in a while, you get stubborn like a mule, Ardur. As much as I respect you, I'm still the captain of the guard and I will decide what measures we take. I would speak with her."

"Ah, whatever, suit yourself," the black-hair scowled. "I'll just sit here and watch you getting stabbed in the back."

"Enough, Ardur. You," the captain turned to Aislinn, "come with me to the barracks. Ardur, Tye, accompany us."

"What about Daren?" Aislinn asked, feeling responsible for the man who had brought her here in the first place. Somnir stared at him as though he noticed him for the first time and then suddenly laughed heartily.

"Well, look at you, Daren," he beamed with an amused look in his face. "If I knew it only takes a woman for you to recover, I would have sent you one a long time ago." Aislinn blushed unwillingly, rather embarrassed then flattered. "How about you go and make yourself useful by letting my men know that there's a threat coming to the city and they are to gather here within one hour? Let's avenge your family, what do you say?"

Daren's ears turned slightly pink and he gave Aislinn a questioning look. She nodded, not sure of what was expected of her. "All right," he said hesitantly. He paused for a moment to take a look at the whole group before leaving for the lower parts of the city.

"Am I guessing right that it was you who gave him a punch in the head?" Somnir inquired, beckoning to all of them to follow him into the castle.

" _Now_ you're asking me?" She raised a brow. Somnir laughed as they set towards the castle gate. They passed a statue of a young handsome man with his mouth open as though he was Shouting, clad in ornate heavy armor with fortified joints and folded tassets. Aislinn gave the statue a curious look and earned herself a smile from the Captain.

"Interested in the story of Martin Septim?" he asked then and looked at the statue thoughtfully. "We wouldn't be in this predicament had the Septim bloodline not ceased its existence those two hundred years ago."

"Martin Septim, huh," Aislinn murmured as they entered the castle, finding themselves in a vast entrance hall with wide stairway in front of them and a small wooden door on the right. The guard at the entrance gestured a greeting to Somnir.

They continued to their right, into a room full of beds and resting guards and proceeded across it and further into a corridor with low ceiling, dimply lit by torches occasionally attached to its walls. A cozy room was connected to it with a plain wooden table at its center and a few chairs scattered around it. A guard sitting in the corner saluted them, gazing curiously at Aislinn.

"Terrence, you're dismissed from your duty," Somnir addressed him. "Wait for me at the courtyard with the others."

"Did anything happen, sir?"

"You'll know soon enough. Now go and give us some privacy. Make sure nobody comes here during our meeting."

"Yessir!" The man quickly rose from his seat and saluted again, taking his leave. No sooner than the door snapped shut behind him, Somnir invited the others to take a seat, grabbing himself the only chair with a pillow on it. He sat down comfortably and exhaled deeply.

"So," he began, "how about we think up a strategy before we talk to the Countess. She has enough to worry about as it is."

"Not against it, but do you have anything in your mind?" Ardur asked.

"That's what I'd like to ask our new friend here." Ardur grimaced sourly at the word _friend_. "But let's start from the beginning. I am Somnir, captain of the Bruma guard. You are?"

"Lynn," Aislinn replied neutrally. "I used to be a mercenary up in Skyrim, but the Thalmor were too much even for me."

There was a loud snort and Aislinn raised her head to meet Tye's glare. She stared at him in surprise, but Somnir hurried with his answer so she did not have time to think about it.

"So you came here?" he asked with a raised brow. "Are you expecting things to be any better in Cyrodiil?"

"Not quite," she shook her head. "There's someone I need to see."

Silence followed, but Aislinn seemed unwilling to elaborate. At last, Somnir nodded and changed the topic.

"So, you say you have experience with dragons. What's your suggestion then?"

"Yes, I could say dragons are my forte, although I can't offer you much strategy. What can you do against a beast of the size of a smaller house, flying freely above your heads?" She let out a bitter laugh. "So, first off, you need to find out what kind of dragon it is. Those who breathe fire are naturally less resistant to ice while those with ice breath are weak against fire. There are a few that breathe both, and these are stronger and sturdier than the others. For those, the only magic they fear is lightning. Also, if it's a fire dragon, it is most likely going to attack the city itself while an ice dragon will probably focus on your men."

"Not a positive prospect either way. The thing is, there's not much magic going on in our ranks. The only mages here are the Synod and they're not the most cooperative bunch you could imagine."

Aislinn nodded, sliding a finger over a burl in the table wood. "As for fighting with weapons, I suggest you avoid close combat if possible. Be it with claws or jaws, once a dragon grabs you, it's the end of you. I can't even count the number of people I've seen die this way. It does have weak spots though so it's not impossible to take it down. The upper part of its neck, right under its jaw, is soft and easily penetrable. Also the skin between the torso and the wide part of the wing. The best thing you can do is take it down. It can walk on the ground but it makes it much slower. That said, dragons are huge. It still takes time for them to turn around, so you can easily outrun them in a fight. Still," she gave the Captain a grave look, "I'd try to convince the Synod to help you if I were you. Without magical protection, the first few soldiers that happen to get in its way are certain to get slaughtered. It takes some time, getting used to fighting dragons."

"They won't be willing to…"

"Let me put it like this," she continued. "Either you join forces, or the city will suffer a lot more consequences than it has to. And if the Thalmor have some more tricks up their sleeves, they are likely to defeat you in the end."

Ardur opened his mouth to retort, but Somnir waved his hand to silence him. He let out a heavy sigh, but did not otherwise react to what Aislinn had said. "I presume you have experience fighting those beasts, being a mercenary and all? Though dressed like this," he asked instead, granting her a somewhat degrading look.

Aislinn curled her lips slightly and averted her eyes. This did not exactly go as she had planned, but she was not quite keen on the idea of explaining herself. "Lend me an armor and a bow and I'll make myself useful."

"Somnir, no," Ardur opposed. "Look at her. A dress and… a well-hidden set of bloody darts in her shoes," he smirked and watched Aislinn wince. "Trying to blend in while armed? She's with the elves! Don't give her a chance to stab you in the back."

"Blend in? Then she's doing a very poor job," the Captain laughed. "Obviously she was in the storm all night, which only means she had no other choice than to travel. Why would a Thalmor do that when they can just wait around a corner?"

"You're being way too gullible," Ardur grunted. Somnir opened his mouth to object.

Aislinn felt slightly annoyed, though she was not sure whether it was because she had just been called a Thalmor, because the captain was making fun of her or because they were talking about her in her presence, pretending she wasn't even there. She knit her brows, her gaze shifting between the two when she noticed Tye watching her, his expression somewhere between curiosity and contempt. Their eyes met and he twisted his lips and shrugged. She sighed and watched the meaningless discussion.

"Whatever, Ardur," Somnir concluded irritably, "just go gather your men and send a few scouts."

"I'm not leaving you here with _her_ …"

"I can manage. Now go."

Ardur stood up and glared at Aislinn angrily. She stared back emotionlessly, waiting for him to speak up, but he never did. He left the room with a snort and soon his footsteps faded in distance.

"Please, forgive him," Somnir said with an apologetic expression. "He's a good lad, just not a trustful one. Apparently, he could not trust his own family back when he was still a child, so he has learnt not to trust easily."

"He tried to rob me," Aislinn grunted.

"Happened to the best of us," Somnir said with his head tilted to the side. "but what do you expect from the Thieves Guild? I guess he still feels the urge to steal from time to time, even though he has decided to help us as long as the Thalmor threat is here."

"Truly?" Aislinn wondered, chuckling in her thoughts. So they had something in common, she and Ardur. Interesting.

"Captain Somnir!" Tye gasped, making Aislinn wince. She had almost forgotten he was there. The guard captain only waved his hand.

"Calm yourself, Tye. If she was with the Thalmor, she would know who you and Ardur are anyway."

Aislinn looked at the young man with interest. So he was someone important. Except for his visibly costly outfit for which he did not seem to care in the least, there was nothing about him suggesting his significance. She wondered about who he was, but kept silent as she was afraid to ask. The Captain seemed trustful enough. Perhaps there would be time to get this information from him later.

"So, Lynn," Somnir addressed her then, "what do you suggest we do with the citizens? Do you think they would be safe within the castle walls?"

Aislinn looked around. Unlike the rest of the city, the castle was made in stone. The walls were massive and the towers huge, mostly made to protect what was inside, enabling its occupants quick movement throughout the whole complex and good control of all its surroundings. It was more practical than decorative, but she still lacked the information necessary to be able to answer his question.

"Is the structure in a good state?" she asked. "No loose stones, crumbling walls or ceilings, no damaged struts, beams or pillars? No rusty or broken hinges?"

"The north-west tower took a little damage during the last battle, but even if it falls apart, it's not like they can get to the castle easily."

"The walls look sturdy," Aislinn said thoughtfully, still looking around, examining stone after stone and the way they were glued together. She rose from her seat and touched the grout between them. Of course, the best way for her to test their endurance was to Shout, but she preferred keeping her identity secret as long as possible. Instead, she gazed at a steel gauntlet lying on top of a chest in one of the corners. "Can I have that?" she said, pointing at it.

"Uh…" Somnir raised a brow, "sure?"

She took the gauntlet and studied it for a brief moment. It looked quite solid and in good condition. She nodded as she took it on, flexing her fingers in it. Then, she simply punched the wall with all her might. There was a loud bang and a small amount of crumblings fell down to her feet. Both the Captain and Tye jumped up and widened their eyes.

"For the love of the Nine, lass, you've got the strength of a dragon!" Somnir exclaimed, both startled and admiring.

"Are all the walls like this?" she questioned, ignoring the statement.

"Mostly, yes. Even sturdier down in the dungeons, but I don't suppose we'll be taking the citizens to the prison."

"So, the prisoners get to be the safest in the city… how ironic," Aislinn remarked quietly. Then she shook her head as though she was trying to chase away an obnoxious thought and gave Somnir an approving look. "Yes, I think they should be safe here."

"Good," he nodded in satisfaction. "I think we should go and confront the Countess now. We need her approval for this plan."

"Pardon me," Aislinn said, "but it sounds a little incomplete yet…"

"Of course it sounds incomplete," the Captain laughed. "Even if I hear your advice, you don't think I'd trust a stranger completely, do you?"

Aislinn suddenly felt embarrassed and somewhat defeated. Of course he wouldn't. She wouldn't either. How could she be this naïve?

"Tye," he continued, "feel free to use my armory if you need to. Prepare your men. Take this lass with you and keep an eye on her. I don't want any trouble at a time like this. I'll inform you shortly whether you are to evacuate the city."

"Sir," Tye said with a nod. He rose from his seat and waved his hand to Aislinn without so much as looking at her. She lifted her hand and inspected the gauntlet she was still wearing, finding a few scratches. With a slight frown, she took it off and handed it to the Captain.

"Sorry for this," she murmured. "Not as shiny as it used to be."

"But still in one piece and functional," he chuckled. "Our steel is top-notch."

Aislinn smiled and followed her Imperial guide through the barracks and the main hall back to the courtyard with the large statue. She shot it one more curious glance before pacing out to the city. Tye gave her an amused look.

"You really like that statue, don't you?" he said with a smile. "A fan of Martin Septim?"

"More like I'm interested in him," she replied absent-mindedly. "He is the… last Dragonborn before the one that appeared some thirteen months ago in Skyrim."

"The last Dragonborn before the Last Dragonborn," Tye laughed. "I wish I had a power like that."

"Do you now? What about the responsibility that comes with it?"

"I don't mind responsibility. I'm already charged with the safety of the people around here. If I had power, I could become a hero and become even more useful."

"What a carefree way to look at things," Aislinn uttered silently, causing the man to turn to her abruptly.

"You know, you shouldn't judge people before you get to know their reasons. It's not like _a mercenary_ would know about responsibility anyway."

She stared at him, startled. Had she just offended him? Then again, she felt slightly annoyed at his lighthearted remarks on how he wanted the power of the Dragonborn. Wasn't he too judging her without knowing what she had to go through? And wasn't he also judging all the mercenaries without learning about them?

"Likewise," she mumbled before she could stop herself. She regretted it immediately.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, not hiding his disbelief. Aislinn noticed it anyway.

"Nothing, forget about it. Sorry about that."

"You're probably thinking I'm taking this lightly… well, I'm not. All my life I've been told to do great things, things that I can't possibly achieve without the power to do so. I have the will, I do… I just think I don't have the power. And the authority."

"I'm… confused," Aislinn said disconcertedly.

"I'm sorry," Tye sighed. "I shouldn't have… troubled you with my personal problems. It would have been best if the Septim dynasty had not ended with the death of Martin Septim anyway. Can you imagine it? A Dragonborn emperor. A person with the power of the Voice, leading the whole nation. And not just one nation. Can you?"

Aislinn shivered inwardly. "No," she replied curtly.

"Seriously, you're no fun. Have you no dreams?"

"I'd just say my dreams are different from yours."

"He became a dragon, you know. A giant fire breathing dragon… and died for his land and people. A true hero."

"You want to say he took the shape of a dragon. Dragons don't die."

"Well then, maybe he's not really dead. That would be something. Maybe he's somewhere out there, waiting for his chance."

"That would be…" Aislinn started, but then she trailed off as a memory flashed before her eyes. A memory of Lucia lying on the floor, covered with linen wraps and moaning in her sleep. "Brother… say, Martin Septim used to be a priest, right?"

"Oh yes, a priest of Akatosh. And a very devoted one."

So, her daughter had called "brother Martin", which, coincidentally, was the name of the last Dragonborn Emperor of Tamriel who _disappeared_ after battling Mehrunes Dagon, in her sleep and then she miraculously became a Dragonborn. How could she be so ignorant? It was so obvious. She clenched her fists, remembering the tears on Lucia's face.

 _I'll bash your face, Martin Septim,_ she promised inwardly. _For everything you've done to her, for the burden you dumped on her… I swear I will._ She frowned. Technically, she was indebted to him, for Lucia had saved her life. She did not want to admit it.

"Um, hello? Lynn?" a voice interrupted her thought. She looked up and her eyes rested upon Tye who was watching her with a mixture of concern and impatience.

"Sorry, yes?" she stammered, clasping her hands together.

"Are you okay?"

"Perfectly fine, thank you. I was just a little lost in thought."

"Good. We're here," he announced as he took the knob of a door leading to a large house facing the Synod headquarters. She looked at the house with interest as it seemed newer than the others, or rather completely reconstructed. Unlike most of the houses in Bruma, this one's outer walls were fortified by a thick layer of stone. It seemed as though it had taken some damage recently, but she was not sure whether it was during a battle or on some other occasion. Instead of being burnt or damaged by a catapult, it seemed to have been vandalized. She tilted her head to the side and wondered what could be inside.

The door opened and they entered a vast hall with a counter on the opposite side of it. A man in a colorful hat saluted Tye and bowed deeply. Then he looked at Aislinn curiously, scrutinized her ragged clothes and raised a brow briefly. He quickly concealed it a moment later and exhibited a wide smile.

"Welcome!" he exclaimed, making the walls resonate under the power of his voice. Aislinn winced slightly. "Welcome to Cyrodiil Resistance Theatre! What can this humble servant do for you?"

"Cyrodiil Resistance Theatre?" Aislinn repeated in amazement. Tye grinned and exposed a set of blindingly white teeth.

"Well, if you are a Thalmor, you should absolutely join us," he said. "Such talent for acting is rarely seen." He waved to the man and they exchanged a few signs with their fingers.

AIslinn smiled. _Well, I'd certainly be happier here than among those sour faces of theirs,_ she thought. For an unknown reason, a memory of Altmer faces frowning at her and shaking their heads in disappointment flashed before her eyes. A memory that she had not known she had, and it was somewhat painful. Tye noticed her hesitation again and furrowed his eyebrows.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked. "You've been spacing out frequently."

"No, sorry," she shook her head. "That's… just how I am." _Not too far from the truth,_ she thought to herself.

"Really? Then I guess I know now why you decided to leave Skyrim," he remarked with a smirk. "A mercenary spacing out in the middle of a fight could be a problem."

Aislinn glared at him. For the love of the Nine, did this man do judging for living? He was starting to annoy her more than Ardur, and that was something. Then again, things were no different when she had first talked to the people in Skyrim. Especially the bored guards whose only job was telling off people stealing someone else's things. _Like sweet rolls,_ she thought sardonically.

"Well then," he continued, pointing at the doorway to their right, "shall we proceed?"

Aislinn nodded and they entered a room filled with stands, figurines and pegs holding a large amount of colorful clothing and even armors, though they looked more decorative than useful to Aislinn. A Breton man in a jester costume was pivoting in the corner and giggling to himself, making her shudder in painful memory of certain assassin she used to know. The Breton, however, stopped his movement the moment the two of them entered the room. Ignoring Aislinn completely, he bowed deeply to Tye.

"Well, if it isn't our heroic Tremendus Titanius, Divines bless you, my liege."

"Oh, shove it, Erthor," Tye laughed. "I need to gather everyone."

"Everyone?" the jester asked with a raised brow, finally stooping his shoulders. Aislinn exhaled deeply. Unlike Cicero, this one actually seemed normal.

"Yes, everyone. Every single member present in Bruma."

"What happened?"

"A dragon happened. Quite possibly we'll need to evacuate the city."

"A dragon? Wait… what do you mean?"

"A dragon is a dragon, Erthor. A giant flying beast. The Thalmor have it on their side."

"The… what? How can they have a dragon?!"

"For Talos's sake, how would I know?"

"But… that's amazing! I mean… bad for the people, but Tye! We get to fight a dragon! A real dragon! At last!" He made an exhilarated pirouette.

Aislinn rolled her eyes. She had misjudged him. A jester looking forward to fighting a dragon? That was madness.

"Yes, well…" Tye stammered with a trace of disconcert in his face, "I'm off to the basement. Could you go and call the men in the city?"

"Of course, my liege. Who is she?" he finally nodded to Aislinn.

"Just a _mercenary_ ," Tye replied sourly.

"Oh!" the man laughed heartily. A playful spark glistened in his eyes when he walked past them and patted the startled Aislinn on the shoulder. "Good luck and stay strong," he said to her as he exited the room. She looked at the doorway curiously. Tye sighed.

"Don't mind him," he said. "He just loves to joke around. As an actor, he's irreplaceable though."

"I like him," she chuckled.

"Well, unless you're extremely skilled with both blade and cooking spoon, you're out of luck."

"I didn't mean it like that," she grunted. "Is this really a theatre?" She looked around again. There were no signs of weapons about, but she was sure these men were more than just actors.

"Of course! We're the Resistance Theatre!" he whispered mysteriously and crossed the room, lifting a heavy trapdoor on its far end. "Join me?"

They descended a ladder made of thick, solid wood, finding themselves in a cellar. Aislinn could hear murmuring noises from afar, occasionally interrupted with a yell or a giggle. A ragged curtain covered an entrance to a short passage leading to a vast chamber hosting a number of people in various costumes. There were princesses and fair maidens, knights in armors which were more shiny than protective, thieves, merchants and nobles with richly plumed hats, smiths with huge hammers, tailors, hatters, peasants and even trolls and a dragon. A stage was lifted on one side of the room with various pieces of clutter lying around, while on the other side was another door. Aislinn assumed, judging by the hoarse texture of the stone around, that this place had been caved not too long ago. Then she noticed a notice board with innumerous flyers and posters attached to it. She instinctively approached it and studied the hanging pieces of paper, not paying much attention to the people who now flocked around Tye and called his name as he started explaining the situation.

 _Rise and Fall of the Blades – a thrilling story about the legendary dragon slayers,_ announced one of the posters, featuring a picture of a man swinging a thin katana.

 _The Testament of Uriel Septim,_ another one said, supplemented with a heartbreaking commentary from a devoted fan.

 _Tales from Alinor – a comedy of how Alinor came to be – and how it ended._

She could not but smile to herself. Turning to face Tye again, she snickered. "I must admit that the citizens of Cyrodiil are far more creative than the Nords up in Skyrim," she chuckled. A few faces now turned to her, gazing at her with interest.

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. People are losing hope, but we still want to win the war. So today, the Resistance is going to defeat a dragon."

"Are these people capable of fighting one?"

"These people," a man in a deep blue blacksmith apron said, "are the best fighters in Cyrodiil. You think the Thalmor would leave a group like us alone? We are trained to fight, as much as we are trained to act."

Aislinn looked around, her eyes sliding from one actor to another. She liked their faces. There were men and women of various races and disposition, but they were all determined, prepared to take on whatever menace was threatening them at any cost.

She watched Tye who now waved at two of them and some sort of quick nonverbal communication occurred between him and them. She could not catch the exact signs, but the men quickly stepped forward and nodded. They appeared to be twins, both with wild rusty hair occasionally turning shades of grey and a full beard. They were both very muscular and sturdy, but while one of them looked more like a Nordic type with round face, rosy nose reminiscent of a small apple in shape and rough look in his dark eyes, the other was more of an Imperial, slightly less brawny with thinner face and a broody expression. They reminded her of Farkas and Vilkas a little, and a faint stab of nostalgia crept into her heart. She had no doubt about their combat skills, especially when she realized that each of them carried a great sword.

"I want the rest of you get to work now," Tye called to the crowd. "There are weapons that need sharpening and armors waiting to be polished and oiled. Don't forget about the pads. Prepare enough arrows. Also, water, as much as you can get. If you need to go to the spring beneath the walls, do not use the main gate, the elves will probably be watching out for anyone who dares to do that."

Everyone in the crowd moved out immediately, some quickly disappearing behind the door opposite the stage to appear in different clothing a few moments after while others left the room completely. The two muscular red-hairs stayed with Tye who beckoned to them and Aislinn to follow him back to the city. He split with them soon after, leaving them at the entrance to the castle courtyard where soldiers were slowly gathering, murmuring and chatting amongst themselves. Aislinn scowled. So he had them watch her so she wouldn't do anything. She didn't even get to offer any help.

She raised her head to watch the sky and her eyes followed a solitary cloudlet traversing the ocean of blue. Then, a frightened guard rushed past her and stopped just before the crowd. She turned after him as he spoke breathlessly.

"I just came from the watchtower. They keep it low but I saw it among the trees. It's true, it really is a dragon! A huge winged beast, pearlescent purple, with scales like razors and teeth that would crush you in an instant! We're doomed!"

Aislinn stepped towards him, oblivious of the two men who unsuccessfully tried to grab her shoulders. "How far is the elven army?" she asked. He turned around and blinked in surprise.

"I've never seen you before…" he said uncertainly.

"Lynn, a mercenary from Skyrim, currently helping to resolve this situation," she replied, stretching out her hand. He gripped it shakily. "How far are they?"

"Well… not too much, but still about two or three hours away. The dragon could make it here in seconds though…"

"It could, but it won't. A single dragon is not that powerful against a city full of warriors, they won't risk it. Although it means the actual battle is going to be harder."

"I… I don't know if I can fight against a dragon…"

"Relax. If they can do it in Skyrim, you can do it here too. They're not omnipotent."

The guard nodded weakly. Aislinn looked at her supervisors who were glaring at her irately. She ignored it.

"Purple dragons tend to be strong," she said. "We really need to get the Synod to cooperate with us."

"The Synod are a conceited bunch of idiots," the Imperial-like said. "They won't do anything unless there's something in it for them. Like a piece of their damned knowledge. Or a magical crystal."

"You won't know unless you try. We need to…"

"We don't need to do anything," the other one argued. "We wait for Tye's orders and that's it."

"If that's what you think," Aislinn retorted sourly and set towards the Synod headquarters.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?!" they called after her, catching up in a second and blocking her way. Grimacing, she made a quick turn and circled the muscular one who stood closer to her before he could react. The slighter one was before her in an instant and drew his sword.

"Not a step further," he warned, his hand on the hilt of his sword, "or I'll be forced to take action."

A few people from the crowd turned their attention to them. Aislinn smirked.

"Is it really so hard to realize that I am trying to help you?" she asked. "I'm telling you you're not going to make it without them. The dragon can Shout. They have countless mages who cast spells. You need a mage or two at least. Let me help you."

"Or you have allies there, planning to take over the city."

"Sure, you trollhead, I have allies there. Best to keep them in the mages guild where half of the mages could kill them right away while I could easily host them, let's say, in Daren's house where nobody's been in ages?" She did not stop, speeding up instead. Both of her guards drew their weapons and tried to block her way, but she danced between them, letting one of the blades slide along her arm while the kicking the other out of her way, happy that she had at least taken sturdy boots. She cursed the dress she was wearing inwardly for limiting her movement.

Well aware of the fact that they did not want to hurt her, she used it to her advantage, pressing herself against one of the blades. Its wielder recoiled quickly and the way was clear until the other blocked her with his own body, stretching his arm so the sword prevented her from stepping sideways. She smiled and slid under it nimbly, breaking into a run down to the lower parts and to the former Mages Guild. They ran after her, panting as they did, but only caught up to her when she grabbed the handle of the massive ornate door.

"No! Stop right there!"

"You're being unreasonable," she sighed and shook her head. "If you're unsure, come with me. But I'm going to make these guys cooperate, no matter what you say."

With that, she entered the building and left the two of them with no other choice than to follow her. They did, finding themselves in a large entrance hall with a few comfortable looking upholstered armchairs and a number of footrests. Several soul gems were placed in the display cabinet across the room, along with a bowl of frost salts, a group of colorful bird feathers, and an alembic which reminded Aislinn of old Tolfdir. A mage in greyish robes was resting in one of the armchairs, yanking when the three of them made their sudden appearance. He squinted at them drowsily, glancing over each of them in turns. Aislinn's eyes widened.

"You're…" She recognized the wrinkled face of Paratus Decimius and scowled internally at the memory of their encounter. Immediately, she thought it a strange coincidence to find him in Bruma, but she did not have the time to ruminate on it further.

The mage jumped on his feet immediately, pointing a finger at her. "You… you… Dragonborn! How… what in Oblivion are you doing here?!"

"Saving your damned butt again," she spat. "And you should hurry up and call your buddies if you value it."

"How dare you…"

"Wait," the slighter twin said slowly, "what did he just call you?"

"Nothing," Aislinn uttered curtly, "and you heard nothing. Are we clear?"

"Sure as Oblivion not. I'm telling Tye."

"No. He doesn't need to know."

"And that's where you're wrong. If there's someone who does need to know, it's him."

"Oh yeah? Is he that important? Or do you just simply love to lick his boots?"

"That's because he's…"

"Enough, Ruff!" the other one hissed and his nose turned bright red. "Stop. The Dra… this person here has her secret. Tye has his own. Let's keep it at that."

"But…"

"Are you done yet?" the mage, his eyes sliding from Aislinn to the two guards and back again, pointed impatiently. "And what do you mean by saving my butt _again_? Sure as Oblivion you haven't saved it once."

"Except for that one time in Mzulft where a bunch of crazed Falmer guarded all the escape routes," Aislinn snorted. "Anyway, a dragon is approaching Bruma and if you don't help out, there's a high chance of you losing the roof above your head."

"A dragon, you say? And what's in it for us?"

"A dragon is not enough to satisfy you? Or scare you?"

"Scare us?" Paratus scoffed. "So very funny. It is true that such a beast might be an interesting subject to study, but… as we want it dead and you're most likely going to sap all of its essence from it, there is no gain for us. So… what about sharing your own secrets? We know that you had something up there in your College."

"It's not there anymore, but sure, whatever. Come find me later and I'll tell you whatever you want, just get those mages of yours out there. And don't mention my identity. To anyone."

"That depends…" Paratus said with a smirk. "Are you going to save us this time, _Dovakhiin_?"

Aislinn hesitated, scrutinizing the mage from top to bottom, but his expression was entirely unreadable. "You… know something, don't you?"

"I'm a member of the Synod. We know a lot, although it wasn't until certain blind elf made a grave mistake in his plans."

"Blind elf?"

"Tall, with beautiful dark gold hair spreading around him like a veil. He made quite an impression on us. I daresay he's not as Thalmor as he makes himself out to be, but I have my doubts about his allegiances. We believe you've met him?"

"Those eyes of his… he's blind?"

"He had no eyes, although I believe he'd lost them recently."

"No, that can't be. Even if he lost them right after our encounter, there's no way you would know…"

"Oh, come on, Dragonborn," the man jeered, "you underestimate us. Words travel fast, and we have means of communication that you can't possibly dream of."

"Ah, whatever. So… what is the mistake he did?"

"He ordered someone to research something for him. The amusing part is, that someone was our spy that we sent to watch the Thalmor's movement."

"Research what?"

"Everything for a price, Dragonborn. What else can you offer?"

"I don't suppose it's money you're interested in?"

"Certainly not."

Aislinn sighed. What was it that she had and could sacrifice? Her greatest treasures were Daedric artifacts, but most of them were so powerful that she would hardly let anyone touch them, much less own them. But if she were to choose one with an ability that some of them, if not most, probably already had…

"How about the Sanguine Rose?"

Paratus winced and his eyes widened in surprise. "Say that again?" Even her two companions gaped at her incredulously with their lips parted.

"The Sanguine Rose. The staff that…"

"You got yourself a deal."

She smiled. "Then you owe me an answer."

"All right then. There is this mage in Markarth who is researching the Dwemer…"

"Yes, Calcelmo."

"… and in spite of his mind constantly wandering elsewhere, gods, how I hate talking to the guy, he made quite some progress with it. His research is currently very much restricted due to elves trying to control the city and recent cave-in down at Nchuand-Zel." He paused and gave Aislinn a meaningful look. She averted her eyes. "Now this suspicious man wants to know about certain Dwemer device which can supposedly capture a soul and transfer it somewhere else."

"You mean the thing that…"

"Yes, the thing that the elves have somewhere deep in their dungeons. You have some… personal experience with it, no?"

Aislinn did not answer. She did not wish to talk about it and still felt humiliated every time she remembered what had been done to her. She shuddered inwardly.

"Is that all?" she asked.

The mage leaned closer and she could feel his minty breath. He whispered so no one except for Aislinn could hear him, and the way he did so made Aislinn's hairs stand on end. "There are rumors… rumors about that thing sending the souls in time. The essence of a soul is much like an Elder Scroll – it transcends space and time. Supposedly, that thing can take this essence and send it… to wherever, or rather _whenever_ it's meant to be sent. In fact, it is possible that it's somehow associated with the Elder Scrolls."

"Is there a way to control this thing?"

"There might be, but we're not certain. Also, we believe that it can take any soul except a dragon's, which is the reason why Alduin hasn't taken a dragon's body yet."

"But wouldn't he have to transfer his soul if he wanted to take my body?"

"That, or he can make your soul transfer partially while being still linked to your body. Not perfect, but enough to take control over it and use it to find a way to enter a dragon."

"Is there such a way?"

Paratus shrugged. "This is all we know."

Aislinn nodded with a contemplative sigh and took a step towards the entrance. "We'll be returning to the castle now. Can I count on the Synod that you will help us with the dragon?"

"Certainly, Dragonborn…"

"And please, don't use this name. For everyone in Bruma, everyone in Cyrodiil, actually, my name is Lynn. I'm a mercenary from Skyrim."

"Mercenary?" Paratus repeated curiously. "Really? That won't gain you much popularity around here."

"I… noticed. Might be better this way."

"Maybe," the mage said, letting out a laugh reminiscent of the sound of old hinges. "Well then, see you in the battle."

"Talos guide you," she said, earning herself a raised brow.

"Well, Julianos guide _you_ ," he replied with a snort before she left the building.

A sight of people running around in chaos, gathering their belongings and leaving their houses in hurry welcomed her and her guards outside. A panicking mother grabbed her little daughter, constantly turning around and looking here and there as though she was expecting someone to try to assassinate her that very moment. A slight, short man scurried past Aislinn, breathless while carrying a large pole. She wondered what it might be for when one of her companions spoke.

"Seems like Tye is evacuating the people in the end," he chortled. "Ah, look at him." He pointed at a Breton man trotting afar and Aislinn recognized the jester she had seen before in the Resistance headquarters. He was now dancing around, gathering people and directing them to the castle, helping here and there while constantly speaking to them. From time to time, he made an elegant pirouette or tumbled like a monkey.

"Dear citizens of Bruma," he called to them, "the time has come when heroes rise against the menace they have been eagerly waiting for. For your own safety, the Countess is going to host you within the castle walls. But do not be afraid! The Thalmor may fancy themselves clever for bringing such a mighty beast, as dragon surely is, into the battle fray, yet it is but one beast against us. Today, Bruma will prove that the Empire does not fall easily. Let us all fight bravely for this day, for our land and our freedom! For our people! For ourselves! Let us sing for those who have fallen before us and for those who will fall for their dearest. Let us pray that one day, we may meet in Sovngarde and have a taste of their divine nectar!"

"He may be a Breton, but he definitely has a Nord heart," the larger man remarked.

"Unlike you, Fluff," the other man said with a laugh. "Maybe your souls switched bodies just before you were born."

"Fluff?" Aislinn drawled with a raised brow and examined the man's body muscle by muscle. They seemed hard as steel and equally as flexible.

"Yup, that's what they call me," he said innocently. "And this is Ruff, my brother. Half-brother, actually."

"Ruff and Fluff?"

"They're just nicknames. We barely call ourselves our real names."

"Shouldn't you switch the names, though?"

"Haha, common mistake," Ruff said. "You'll see when you've been around us for a while. He might look strong but he's a crybaby."

"Ruff!"

Aislinn laughed, but soon she was interrupted by a roar which echoed through the city, bouncing from wall to wall, resonating and shaking the ground beneath their feet like a thunder. She looked up, but the tall walls of Bruma blocked her view.

"I need armor," she told her companions. "I hope you trust me now, we need to hurry."

Ruff nodded. "Light or heavy?" he asked.

"I don't mind either, it's not like it's going to protect me from dragon claws anyway. But it needs to be padded a lot."

"All right. Let's go back to the theatre, Somnir's armory will most likely be depleted."

They rushed through the chaotic crowd, zigzagging among frantic citizens, evading collisions and squeezing themselves between the bodies. Crossing a street had never been more difficult. Aislinn caught a sight of Tye, arguing fiercely with Ardur when both of them turned to her at once, their expressions twisted with exasperation.

"There you are," Tye remarked dryly, stepping in her way. "Where in Oblivion have you been?" He gave Ruff and Fluff a reproachful glare and they exchanged looks.

"Synod," Ruff said neutrally.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Synod. She managed to persuade them to help."

Tye stared at them blankly while Ardur snorted. "Did you hear the whole conversation?" the thief asked.

Ruff paused, thinking of the best way to answer, but Fluff spoke before he could say a word. "No, but we know we can trust her."

"No, you never know. You _never_ know!" Ardur spat. "Why would you even let her…"

"I did it on my own," Aislinn interrupted him impatiently. "Captain Somnir has decided to let me help. The only thing I ask of you is to listen to him and give me some…"

Now she was the one interrupted as a giant reptile flew over the wall and cast its tremulous, jagged winged shadow over the ground and the remaining people who now broke into a wild run towards the castle. The city guards, already positioned on the walls and at strategic points all over the city, fired a volley of arrows at once. Those on the far end ran towards the panicking crowd and started directing the citizens while firmly dividing them into organized groups, using their shields as boarding to create clear passage. Aislinn stared at the beast with her mouth wide open.

"This is too soon," she stammered. "The elves couldn't have…" Her eyebrows furrowed with concentration and her eyes roamed between the dragon and the ground several times. She silently did a quick calculation and exhaled.

"It's too far," she said with a sigh of relief. "They sent it to create chaos. Unless it descends, its attacks won't reach us, and as long as there are archers on the walls, it can't do that without getting seriously wounded." She contemplated whether she should Shout it to the ground. The Dragonrend Shout could definitely reach further than any weapon or magical missile, but the beast was so far that she would most likely miss. She dismissed the thought.

Ardur sighed and poked Tye between his ribs. The youngster recoiled and squinted at him, gaining himself a smirk. "I don't get how you can be this confident about that beast," the thief told Aislinn. "I will only cooperate with you because Somnir has decided to trust you on this one, but don't expect anything more. If you're searching for an armor, I got one for you. There are no more left, so it'll have to do. One moment."

He rushed off, returning in a blink of an eye with a set of studded leather armor not unlike the one he was wearing, except this one had sleeves. Aislinn tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing it. Then she smiled slightly.

"Is this Thieves Guild armor?" she asked. Ardur only snorted and handed it to her without responding. She opened her mouth but before she could say anything, Tye pointed to the theatre where she was originally headed and nodded. Ruff and Fluff accompanied her, Fluff sighing on the way.

"You're not lying to us, are you?" he said, and there was certain amount of sadness in his voice. Aislinn frowned and tried to hypnotize the doorknob of the theatre door before grabbing it. She was slowly getting tired of this.

"What am I supposed to tell you?" she questioned.

"Well, you did whisper something to that man. Tye and Ardy don't trust you, but they don't trust anyone except Somnir and their own men. I… I'd very much like to trust you. You don't seem like a bad person. But now that Ardy mentioned the conversation, my doubts have returned. But I really want to trust you."

"Stop it, Fluff, she…" Ruff started. Aislinn sighed and shook her head.

"Leave it," she uttered in resignation. "I'm going to change."

Upon changing into the armor, she exited the changing room and together they left the building again. Ardur had good judgement, the armor fit her perfectly. She felt good in it, as it was not much different from the Skyrim Thieves Guild armor, except there were several hidden pockets that the Skyrim one did not have. She examined it thoroughly and made a mental note to change the design of the Guild armor slightly. Brynjolf would be happy to be able to carry more shiny trinkets with him, of that she was certain.

She noticed Ardur and Tye watching her curiously, their gaze following her frame from her feet to the top of her head and back. They whispered something between themselves and it annoyed Aislinn a little. When she approached them, Tye held out two blades, fine katanas with their hilts covered with thin leather stripes of black and gold creating ornate decorations. She took one of them and studied it, sliding her finger along the flat part of the blade gently.

"A fine blade," she nodded approvingly, attaching it to her waist.

"They're both yours for now," Tye said. "You're a double wielder, am I right?"

Aislinn paused, suddenly looking Tye in the eye. Unlike most people, the youngster did not avert his eyes. "You're quite astute," she remarked quietly.

"Don't underestimate me," he sneered. "I'm a _warrior_ after all."

She took the other blade from him, ignoring the last statement. "What next?"

The beast up above roared, but most of the citizens were already within the castle walls. There was a dreadful silence when the echo of its voice died out, and Aislinn could feel the tension from everyone around. Even she tensed up, despite not being used to fretting before a dragon. Suddenly, she felt uneasy, wanting to do anything so she would not have to stay idle.

"Next we wait," Ardur said as though he was purposely trying to torment her. She took a deep breath as he handed her a plain steel bow and a quiver full of ebony arrows. She inspected them and, finding no fault, attached them to her back.

The following few hours felt like eternity, and while Tye and Ardur kept watching over their men, Aislinn paced restlessly over the city walls, one eye fixed on the dragon above her head while the other kept track of the elven army's progress. She passed many archers on her way, and several guards with torches and barrels filled with oil which, she suspected, would only serve to keep the Thalmor spell casters busy. Mages of the Synod joined them later, some joining the guards unwillingly, others filling the gaps in the city defenses. Now everything was ready.

They waited. The elves finally reached the city, positioning themselves just outside of the fire range. They did not seem to have sieging machines, stopping their movement entirely. It was quiet. And everyone still waited. Aislinn clenched her fists.

Then, there was the roar again. This time, it sounded painful. Aislinn could feel the Voice deep within herself, shuddering as she looked above to see the dragon still circling over the city. Why? Why did it sound so tormented? Had it been closer, it might have been able to paralyze her entirely. She could almost feel the dragon's soul being linked to hers. The beast took a peek at the numerous elves outside of the city but quickly averted its gaze. As though it was… afraid.

Then there was silence again, both sides waiting patiently for the other to take action. Aislinn could almost feel sleep coming to her, strangely soothed by the still air and silence surrounding the place. Not a bird chirped in the woods, not a leaf moved on the branches, and the sun flooded the city with its golden glow. She slapped her own cheek abruptly, making Ruff and Fluff who still followed her around jump in the air, and nudged the closest mage.

"We must not drop our guard," she said. "They may be waiting for it. Stay alert, watch out for the beast. Even dragons tire, it has to come down eventually."

The man nodded and silently signaled another mage. Everyone exchanged inconspicuous signs, and then there was a momentary lull. Then, as though someone had set the time in motion again, the dragon swooped down.

As it breathed fire, countless wards were raised against it and a rain of arrows flew in its direction, but the flames burned them all before they could reach it. Aislinn joined the archers, but from time to time she ran to a guard, telling them where to aim and how to evade its fire. Soon, many of them turned to her by themselves for advice, relying on her experience. She felt slight satisfaction at that, inwardly sneering at Tye and Ardur.

The dragon was careful. It kept flying low enough to attract attention and pose a threat, but high enough for it to quickly ascend lest the arrows turn into a serious threat. Missiles of magical fire and ice flew its way occasionally, but it seemed as though it was laughing at them, circling and spiraling around quite freely.

At the same time, Aislinn noticed the elves advancing towards the main gate and firing at it. As it was made mostly of wood, strengthened by metal bars, it quickly caught fire. She nodded at the soldiers, hoping she had instructed them thoroughly enough to be able to deal with the dragon, and rushed over the wall to the stairs leading down to the city, her two companions keeping in tow. Meanwhile, a group of well-built men whose ancestors, in Aislinn's eyes, must have been giants, carried a series of beams, bars, rivets, nails and other building materials and quickly strengthened the gate.

"Watch out!" called someone from above, one of the men with the oil barrels. "They're gonna blow up the gate!"

The men swiftly vacated the space around the gate, and a moment later, the sound of explosion tore through the air and temporarily deafened everyone. Aislinn winced and her eyes widened as she caught the sight of a few soldiers lying on the ground, some of them had apparently fallen from above as the impact had shaken the walls. The gate had survived the onslaught, but some of the men were not so fortunate.

"Go and help them," she ordered Ruff and Fluff. "I know you're supposed to watch me, but they really need you now. I'm going to try to do something about that." She pointed at the dragon.

"But how…"

"Just go. They need you there."

The two men nodded, albeit a little unwillingly, and trotted towards the gate. Immediately, her attention turned to the dragon.

She quickly calculated where she could have the best aim, and her eyes rested upon the Great Chapel of Talos. It was risky, but if she could somehow get on top of it… she examined the walls, but they were made of marble, smooth as glass and without a single protrusion except for the joints between the pillar blocks. If she could reach those… she noticed a broken window on one side of it, surrounded by scorched stone. The only thing left of the window was the ornate grid, mostly made of subtle wire, but at some places, solid metal bars connected it and held it in place. Perfect. Now the only thing she needed was…

"Ardur!" she called as she saw the thief running towards her with a group of men and women clad in the same attire as she wore. "Perfect timing! Where can I get a rope?"

The thief slowed ever so slightly, frowning at her. "Rope? What for? And where did those two go?"

She waved to the gate. "There. And a rope for getting to the beast."

He raised a brow. "Hoping to catch it in a loop and show us a rodeo ride? The theatre should have plenty of them."

She nodded gratefully and scurried away, returning soon after with a rope of her own choice. In spite of being quite thin, it seemed very strong, and since it had been securing a statue which was definitely many times heavier than Aislinn in her light armor, she believed it would be able to support her. Now the only thing was to climb this astounding structure which she had admired from the first time she had set foot in Bruma. Oh, Brynjolf would be so against this. She smiled to herself mischievously. She was in her element.

She made a firm loop on the rope and threw it above. It took her four tries to reach the top of the pilaster, but once she managed to do so, climbing the broken window proved to be quite easy. She gripped the rope tightly once she ascended to the first bigger joint where the pilaster narrowed. Stepping on the slanted ledge above it, she propped her feet against the stone and rose slowly above the city. She could see most of the buildings and a great part of the city walls now, and the cold air that whipped her cheeks felt refreshing and energizing.

She proceeded above the lowest part of the roof and to the top of the pilaster, removing the rope upon her arrival. Her next target was the closest inner pilaster supporting the nave walls, which was connected to the outer pilaster by a slender arch. Climbing the arch proved to be the most difficult task as she had to watch her every step and proceed slowly so she would not slip and fall down. Even secured by the rope as she was, the collision with the Chapel wall could prove fatal for her. Little by little, she climbed the roof and the tallest tower, finally settling in between the tower body and an adjacent spire.

 _Feim_ , she meditated inwardly. _Everything mortal fades in time, but the spirit remains._

She was prepared to use the Shout if things turned up bad for her. The height was tremendous and she watched the city and its surroundings in awe. Down on the ground, a swarm of tiny ants were flitting around, and the noises they made barely reached her. The only thing she could hear clearly now was the dragon's occasional roar. She focused her eyes on it and grabbed the bow she had picked up earlier nocking an arrow in it. The beast was moving, but she knew that eventually it would have to stop to take an aim. That was when she would fire.

The tip of the arrow followed the giant winged body for a while. Finally, the beast steadied itself, baring the soft membrane between its left wing and the torso. Aislinn frowned with concentration, deciding this spot was better than nothing, and released the arrow. It hit and the dragon cried out with pain and rage. Immediately, its attention turned to the source of its suffering and their eyes met. Something in the dragon's expression changed and Aislinn could suddenly feel… relief?

It flew straight to her and addressed her quietly and wearily. " _Dovakhiin,_ " it said. She was sure that no one else could hear its voice. "How fortunate. _Kogaan kreh do dez._ What a joyful encounter." Oddly enough, the dragon's words did not sound in the least happy.

Aislinn lowered her bow, unsure of how to react. "What do you mean?"

"Dragons are not used to pleading," the beast replied, " _kah los pah_. But on this day, this one is begging you. Please, kill me. Deliver me from this torment. Take my soul. Become my _saviik_."

"Why? Why would a dragon choose death?"

"The answer to this question, _Dovakhiin_ , lies in the fiery planes of Oblivion where my soul is headed lest you fail to absorb it. _Dii thurre los munax._ "

"Your… your souls go to Oblivion when you die?"

"No… no, they do not. Only mine, and those of the ones stricken with the same misfortune, will. Hurry, _Dovakhiin._ Once the elves find out I have been… 'slacking off', as they like to call it, they are sure to punish me severely."

"I don't understand, how can they…"

"Please, _Dovakhiin_! There is no time to explain. You must make haste!" The dragon sounded almost painfully desperate. Aislinn nocked another arrow slowly, for a reason unknown to her shaking as she took an aim at the reptile's neck. She took a deep breath to calm herself down and her hand steadied at last. Stretching the bow slightly further, she released the arrow and it whistled as it flew the short distance to the reptile, piercing its throat with ease. The beast gurgled and took a dive into the depths of the city. The tiny soldiers down on the ground jumped out of its way in a flash and the ground shook as the huge mass of flesh and bones landed in their midst.

Aislinn knew she had to get down as soon as possible, but then a massive beam of light caught her attention and she watched as the gate exploded, pieces of wood and metal flying everywhere around and even hitting a few soldiers and elves. A unit of enemies made their way to the main street leading to the castle and men in yellow grouped together to block their passage. Aislinn could vaguely hear a vicious laugh from below, and then one of the Thalmor mages raised his hand. He was holding something, but the large distance was preventing Aislinn from seeing clearly what it was, in spite of her dragon sight. It sparkled… and then it glowed brightly. And then…

Aislinn suddenly felt sick. She hugged the spire tightly, wanting to throw up. The dragon returned to life, groaning in anguish, and around him was… white mist. It was not as thick as she was used to, probably only meant to restrict the dragon, but it was enough to make her feel nauseous. On top of that, she also felt the dragon itself, and there was indescribable pain deep within its soul. Her face suddenly twisted in resentment. This was too much. She watched it rise in fury and attack the men on the walls, slaying a great number with just its claws before shooting up to avoid getting hit. Nevertheless, several arrows pierced its skin and it roared, attacking even more fiercely. Aislinn knew she had to do something. Would killing the elves put a stop to this?

Shakily she climbed down the tower, the roof and the two pilasters until she landed on the scorched ground beneath the Chapel. Ardur was leading a unit of men, constantly shouting orders and keeping them organized, which was the only reason why they were still alive, unlike many that fell under the blades and spells of the Thalmor, but even they fell apart after a few moments of fierce fighting, breaking into a few smaller bundles. The thief kept swinging two blades around himself, one a strangely short daedric sword and the other an ebony dagger enchanted to drain the enemy's life force. She noticed a buckler on his back, which he hadn't had before. She drew her katanas to join him, quickly stepping into the fray. Immediately, she felt suffocated by the rotstone vapors, but kept telling herself stubbornly that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Forcefully resurrecting a dragon was far beyond her gravest expectations, and she would put a stop to it at any cost.

"I've only heard of monkeys from travelers, but seeing you climbing that bloody tower, I think I just found one," Ardur called to her breathlessly as she joined him. "Looks like monkeys don't die easily." He sidestepped to dodge a lightning bolt and his dagger shot forward, aiming for the armpit of and elf in gilded armor who quickly fell a few steps backward, raising his shield. A moment after, he lunged at the thief, swinging his mace to hit him from the side, but the thief, light on his feet, evaded the weapon by practically dancing around its path.

Aislinn laughed. "No pain, no gain. Well, not that I actually _gained_ something," she added with a scowl. Finding an elven mage who was about to fire another lightning bolt at Ardur, she charged at him, forcing him to raise a ward. She twisted her face in quasi malicious grin, intimidating her opponent as she swung both of her blades at once, one aiming at the elf's neck while the other went for his knees. Were it a warrior standing against her, she wouldn't dare make such a risky move and expose herself to any blow that might come at her, but since mages practically couldn't attack while holding up a ward, she felt secure in her position. Her opponent staggered in attempt to escape the lower blade. One knee of his was hit, however, and he could not turn in time to run away from the next few blows. Another one replaced him the moment he was slain and Aislinn continued her dance, slowly forgetting about the numbing feeling which had been spreading through her body.

An axe was aimed at Ardur's back but he simply ducked and parried it with his shield. Aislinn's eyes widened. A single inch would have made a difference, enough to result in Ardur's head splitting in half. She was forced to soon forget about the thief as two new opponents appeared before her, a double wielder with two axes whom she surprisingly identified as a Bosmer, and an Altmer battle mage carrying enchanted quarterstaff. She smiled to herself. It wasn't every day that she had the opportunity to fight one of those. However, she soon found herself at a great disadvantage against the two who were obviously very skilled fighters. The moment she lunged at one, the other assaulted her fiercely and she was forced to step back. Furthermore, the quarterstaff was long enough to keep her at distance, unable to even touch the high elf with the tip of her swords. And its owner was a very skilled fighter, sneering at her every time their eyes met. Although she was quite used to enemies making fun of her, this time it felt oddly annoying.

She bent her back to avoid getting hit by the staff and parried the axes with her swords. She hated axes, for they were always hard to fight off with their curves and irregular shapes, and experienced wielders always used them to wedge their opponents' weapons and disarm them that way.

An axe went for her thigh and she sidestepped, but as her right side was blocked by the Altmer, she could only sidestep to the left. The Bosmer was counting on it and the blade of his other axe cut through her padded armor and her upper arm. She contained a scream and used the momentum of her opponent to get closer to him and return the blow, striking at his hip while blocking the quarterstaff by a well-aimed kick. Her leg started trembling at the impact, but her Bosmer enemy's face twisted in painful grimace which gave her a bit of satisfaction. Still, she wasn't any closer to winning the fight, and the others were preoccupied with their own opponents, or a dragon whose roar she could barely hear in the heat of her own battle. Oh, if only she could Shout. But she felt breathless, the paralyzing effect of the rotstone spreading in her lungs. She remembered the mist around her. And then she staggered.

Her enemies wasted no time whatsoever, immediately charging at her. The staff hit her stomach with full force, causing her to gasp as she fell hard on her back, its enchantment sending a wave of lightning and frost through her flesh. She felt her strength retreating from both her mind and body and could only weakly raise her sword in defense as an axe descended upon her. But it never landed.

She squinted as Ardur's nimble frame jumped into her view, grabbing the buckler from his back and fending off the Bosmer's attack. She noticed two things. First, he grabbed the shield with his right arm. Second, his short daedric blade fit into it perfectly, becoming its handle. The thief was now fighting with a dagger in his left hand, and a buckler in the right one, and by the way he swung that dagger, Aislinn knew that he was indeed left-handed. He used the shield to deflect the staff, hitting it as hard as he could and sending the Altmer staggering back.

"So weak!" he called to Aislinn. "Useless, what have you been learning up in that frozen kingless kingdom?"

Aislinn took a deep breath, painfully grimacing as it only sent more rotstone vapors into her lungs. "Shut… up!" she pointed as she stood up slowly. _But he's right,_ she argued inwardly. _I need to get a grip… I can't lose this fight. There's so much I need to do…_

She gripped her blades tightly and joined him once more, surprising the Altmer with suddenly darting at him. He quickly raised a ward, using the staff as his support as he swung it behind his back with one hand and propped himself against it, burying its tip in the ground. Aislinn frowned as she realized his intention. He wanted to split her from Ardur, make her dance around him as he circled the staff so he could stand with his back to his companion and cover more area. Aislinn pulled her blades back and instead stepped in his way so his path to the thief was blocked. She smiled at him innocently, for once winning their little mind game.

She was forced to utilize the newly gained advantage at once as more elves and even a few Nords and Bretons now joined her enemies. She spat in her mind, calling them traitors and deceivers. They now stood back to back with Ardur, complementing each other and always hitting and parrying where the other could not. Aislinn concentrated all her thoughts on Ardur's movements now, trying to read them and adjust her own. She appreciated the distraction as it prevented her from thinking about the poisonous rotstone which still kept spreading about her body. She looked around, realizing that few of the soldiers who had come with Ardur stayed alive, even fewer capable of fighting, yet more enemies had arrived and applied pressure on the weary duo. She barely concentrated on how she fought anymore, relying on her instincts and partially also on Ardur's leadership. Two elves and a Breton fell only to be replaced by others. The Bosmer with twin axes and the Altmer with the staff managed to stand their ground.

"I thought this was supposed to be a _small_ army?!" she panted at the Nord.

"It is, but what can you do with just a bunch of regular guardsmen?" he replied while smashing his buckler against a slight Altmer woman and thus breaking her arm. "The ones on the wall are busy fighting that bloody beast while our small group is getting crushed here. The ones who survived their pyromancers, I mean." His dagger buried in the woman's stomach and he quickly pulled it out, dodging an axe coming from the side. "Sorry, lady," he added. "It's either be a gentleman or live. I think I've made my choice."

Aislinn chuckled.

"Hey, I was being honest!" he defended. "Anyway, you're the dragon expert. Can't you go and just do something about that flying zombie?"

"Right," she snorted, "and leave you here to die?" She crossed her blades and parried a pike, breaking it in half with a powerful strike. Her foot shot up and sent a startled elf to the ground. She didn't bother finishing him, knowing that it would be impossible for him to get up in this situation. She certainly did not envy his position at the moment.

"I'll manage!" Ardur shouted as his dagger drew a deep, crimson line in his opponent's body. "The sooner the dragon is dealt with, the faster I get help!"

"But…"

"Come on! You think me a useless porcelain doll or what? You think a bunch of puny loony pointy ears could crush me? Well, dream on! Now get out there and take care of that bloody overgrown lizard!"

"Fine!" Aislinn yelled. "Don't get mad at me if you die here!"

"Sure, I'll behave! You've never heard of a nicer corpse before!"

Aislinn smirked as she spun, her blades cutting everything in their way until they were stopped by enemy shields. She jumped up to avoid getting cut in half, kicking a mage in his chin on the way. "I'll leave you some company here!" she called to Ardur. Then, she quickly cast a spell to summon Lucien Lachance.

"Who is this?" the thief inquired.

"A friend!" she replied sardonically.

With that, she signaled the ghost to protect him and fought her way through the crowd, spinning, dancing and kicking as she went. Twice she helped a friendly soldier get back up on their feet, and once she saved one's life by stabbing his opponent in the back. At the end, she met a dremora who, unlike most of these awful beings, seemed quite comfortable, walking on the surface of Nirn like it had always belonged there. It seemed to inhale the white vapors around with gusto, enjoying the sensation, and it jeered at Aislinn as she approached.

"Come now," it drawled. "You seem to be faring pretty well despite the condition these vapors put you in. But it is futile. In the end, all returns to Oblivion."

Before she could react, the creature attacked with ferocity Aislinn had not expected, causing her to totter backwards, almost getting pierced by a blade from the other side. With that one strike, she was forced to suddenly become aware of her weariness.

 _I am human!_ she called to herself in her mind. _Not a dragon, human! I can't succumb like this!_

She lunged at the daedra, one blade sliding along its stretched arm while the other fended off the vicious blade it was holding. It was a desperate move and her opponent realized it, simply stepping aside to let her own speed betray her. She managed to tumble away. Knowing she was on the verge of passing out, she waved to it and quickly left the white cloud. The dremora roared with fury but did not follow her. Aislinn sighed with relief. Now the dragon. Next time, she must not fail to kill it.

She ran across the city, reveling in finally being able to breathe some fresh air, and climbed the walls. The dragon was still flying about, many arrows sticking out of its body, making it look more like a peculiar flying pincushion than a mighty beast. She stared at it blankly, thinking of how much pain it must have endured already, but it seemed it did not even feel the pain. Technically, it should not be able to fly anymore, but it still did. She looked at the many soldiers and Synod mages, lying around motionlessly, and her heart sank. How… just how?

This one was legendary, which meant it could burn or freeze its targets as well as drain their life, but still, how was it able to survive this long? And how had the elves resurrected it? She noticed her bow was damaged from the previous battle and was forced to grab another one. At least that was easy with so many corpses scattered around. She positioned herself so she could see the beast clearly, aimed at its belly and released the arrow. It barely scratched it, but it was enough to attract its attention. She could feel its wrath, the grievance it felt towards her for letting it die and come back to life only to be forced into a desperate battle again. She barely avoided its jaw when it swooped down on her and almost fell over the edge of the wall, but before she could feel any relief, she was grabbed by its claws, mercilessly squeezing her waist and ripping the outer leather on her armor. She gasped for air, noticing Tye running across the wall out of the corner of her eye. He screamed something at her, but she could not hear him anymore, deafened by the swooshing sound of the surrounding air. She was taken high up in the air and released soon after, and only miraculously she managed to quickly draw her sword and bury it into a claw, making the dragon's weight work against it.

She gripped the hilt tightly and swung herself up, holding onto the large talon by all her remaining strength. The dragon tried to shake her off, but she managed to maintain her position. The problem was, what now? If she killed the beast, she was going to end up falling down with it, and she did not quite favor the prospect of being crushed between the dragon's body and the hard ground. Even if she managed to climb on its back, the result of her killing it would still be uncertain. She inhaled. At least the cold air served as an energizer, whipping her face and body, and tiny crystals of ice settled in her eyebrows and hair.

"Come on," she called to the dragon. "If you kill me, it means I can't save you anymore. Though I wouldn't really call it salvation, but you know."

"You failed to do it once. You _joorre_ are so… undependable. How are you planning on convincing me that this will not happen the second time as well?"

"I'm right here! Why in Oblivion do you think I fired at you? Land, and I will do what I'm supposed to!" She could feel the dragon wince at the word _Oblivion_.

"If I land, the _fahliille_ are going to summon me back. I cannot resist their magic. They draw from a powerful source."

"Let me climb on you! Then get lower, right above a building or a group of trees! I'll take care of the rest!"

" _Dovakhiin,_ if you fail again…"

"I won't fail," she assured it. _I can't,_ she told herself silently. She let go of the claw and the beast promptly made its way underneath her, allowing her to land on its jagged back. She crawled to its neck, grabbing a protruding piece of callous skin.

The dragon shot down to the ground, and for a while, Aislinn held her breath, staring at the castle wall which was approaching at lightning speed. Then, it slowed down abruptly, stopping a few hundred feet above the widest tower connecting the city walls with the castle courtyard's inner fortification. This was perfect. It was completely deserted, for the soldiers had no reason to fight there, as they needed an escape route from the dragon which this tower did not provide. This was killing two birds with one stone. Not only was it safe to kill it here without harming anyone, but there would be no one to see her absorbing its soul. She can blame it on weird elven magic when they only find bones and scales here. Splendid.

She grabbed her sword and plunged it deep into the nape of the dragon's neck. It roared in pain, and one last tormented cry filled Aislinn's head, but then it sent her a silent _thank you_ before falling onto the top of the tower, letting her slide from its back drowsily. She panted as countless sparks enveloped her body, entering it one by one, and once more she felt the vibrating sensation of new energy, new personality within her. Then, her eyes popped and she quickly covered her mouth in order not to cry out. Aside from the dragon, there was another presence in her, one that was fully conscious. She gasped and fell to her knees, barely noticing that the trapdoor located slightly aloof opened and from it emerged panting Tye and a few of his men. A voice spoke to her from within her head.

 _"_ _Well done, Dragonborn,"_ it said. She froze in horror. She knew that voice, for she had heard it before. Only once, when it had asked her to kill certain scholar. She had refused. _"Truth be told, I have not been expecting this, but this is even better than what I had originally planned. You see, my plane of Oblivion, naturally, is a part of myself. Linking a dragon soul to it means linking it to me… but I have never expected it to link me to you in return. So many times I have pondered whether the effort I put in this would be worth it… but this, this is beyond worth. Thank you for inviting me here. I will enjoy our time together thoroughly."_

Mehrunes Dagon laughed savagely. Aislinn covered her ears instinctively, but she could not chase away his presence, causing a throbbing sensation in her head. She felt as though her whole body was on fire, put in the depths of a magma lake. A hand grabbed her shoulder and made her look up. She could only give Tye a blank stare before her sight started to blur.

 _No…_ she thought desperately. _Not this again…_

She blinked and the image before her eyes cleared momentarily. Tye was looking at her and his usual derisive frown was replaced with worry.

"Help me…" she breathed, the last bit of strength retreating from her limbs. Darkness took her as she slid onto the cold, grey stone.

* * *

 _Honestly, this chapter surprised me. I hadn't expected it to turn out this long, and I thought of splitting it into two afterwards, but since I couldn't find a good spot for it to be interrupted, I just posted it as one super long chapter in the end. And imagine how much time I must have spent on the train since most of it was written on my way to school or back from it. I don't really have much time to write at home anymore, school is driving me crazy and there was also Animefest, which is an anime convention where I'm helping with all kinds of stuff every year, so I've been busy. Nevertheless, I worked hard and here is the chapter. :D_

 _Two things. First, you probably noticed I added some weapons that weren't included in the original game. Well, considering how much stuff I already made up, I guess it's not that surprising anymore, but still… my inspiration this time comes from a mod called Immersive Weapons which has all kinds of awesome stuff, and yes, quarterstaffs (pardon the intrusion here, but Word just highlighted the word "quarterstaves" and instead made me write "quarterstaffs", isn't it weird? :D) are a part of it. I'm surprised that they weren't in any Elder Scrolls game since it's the most basic weapon I can imagine and it's still very powerful. There are also scythes (funny that they are mentioned in "The Tale of the Tongues" but don't appear in the game), "axe staves", various katanas, scimitars and ninjatos, weird shaped daggers and a super cool thing called Azura's Moon (please, google it, better see it with your own eyes). It's overall a cool mod, so if you want to make your Skyrim cooler (in case you haven't already), I highly recommend it. Oh, by the way, I have no idea where the inspiration for Taveera's wand came from. :D_

 _Second, I read Eric's review before writing this chapter and he advised me to make the fights more detailed. Personally, I don't like too detailed combat as it usually spoils my impression from the story (for reference, I'm mainly talking about the writing style of R. A. Salvatore and his Drizzt Do'Urden series in particular, because I loved the books except for the fighting scenes which seemed kind of boring and repetitive – so when you say detailed combat, this is what I usually imagine), but I tried to make a compromise and maybe include a little more detail than before. I'd like to ask what you all think about it, whether it's ok like this or you think that I should change it._

 _That said… thank you all for the lovely reviews you sent me and thanks to everyone who favorited and/or followed. It's always motivating to see these e-mails in my inbox. ^^_

 _And it seems a lot of you are upset that I killed Irileth. I'm sorry… for the sake of realistic feeling, I killed your favorite character. Then again… she died while protecting Balgruuf. Personally, I can't imagine a better death for her. (And no, I can assure you that no character is going to get tortured to death in this story, because that's just too sad and it fills me with despair.)_

 _Pietersielie:_ _Thank you for your opinion! I'll see what I can do about Odahviing. No one else actually replied to my question, so I guess they don't really care._

 _Eric:_ _I think I mostly said what I wanted in my reply to your review, but anyway, thank you again for this amazing long review of yours. I'm happy that you like how I wrote Lucia, I was actually thinking whether she wasn't kinda creepy. And Farkhali, a "femme fatale"… well, hasn't occurred to me. But yeah, I guess marriage fraud could be her occupation as well. Oh darn, this made me think of a good story… well. Anyway, as I said, I tried to change the fighting scenes a little. I didn't include every single detail since that would really be super boring, but maybe this could do…? Or maybe not… :D_

 _Twillin:_ _It's cool, but so… useless. I mean, what's the point of being trapped in a city where you can't climb the walls and actually defend it? :D Well, I actually changed it in this chapter, since I didn't find any access path to the top of the walls in Bruma when I played Oblivion. I chose to be diplomatic and didn't describe where the stairs were, but I had to make it possible for these guys to actually protect the city. Either way, it was a close call.  
And thank you for appreciating the magic in the previous chapter. You see, I'm pretty bad with magic so I get the feeling that I don't give it much room in my story, especially since Aislinn is pretty much something between a thief and a warrior (in Divinity, they call it nightblade. I like that word, I think I'm gonna use it for her :D)._

 _So, that's all from me today, I hope you enjoyed it. Remember that I'll always be happy to hear from you._

 _Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	40. A Chill in the Air

**Chapter 40: A Chill in the Air**

Brynjolf felt Lucia's body tense up as she shifted uneasily in the saddle. A feeling of apprehension took over him. "What's wrong?" he asked quietly.

"Mama," the girl whispered. "I don't feel her presence anymore."

Brynjolf froze, the image of the passing landscape suddenly retreating from his sight, replaced by a dark impenetrable cloud of worry. He wanted to scream.

 _Relax!_ he scolded himself. _She goes to all kind of places, Sovngarde being no exception to that…_

"Do you think she's… you know…"

"Dead?" Lucia completed colorlessly. Brynjolf winced, nearly letting go of the reins. "I don't know. It feels like she's… very, very far away."

The thief let out an exhausted breath. "Don't scare me like this."

"But it's all so confusing… I'm scared."

He patted her head gently, the only gesture he managed to make to prove that he cared. He was so not good with children and it had not even occurred to him that this little lass knew what fear was. How could he know after everything she had said and done?

They continued through the endless drifts of snow, the wind blowing the white cold matter into their faces constantly. Brynjolf noticed a pair of frost trolls running down a nearby slope and his hand instinctively reached for the hilt of his sword, but they paid no attention to the pitch black stallion carrying two riders on his back. The more eastward they went, the colder it became, and soon, frost trolls and ice wraiths were the only creatures to keep them company. No footprints in the snow revealed another human, mer or beastfolk, no sounds save for Shadowmere's footsteps and the occasional crackling from the glaciers interrupted the still, white land. Even the water in the sea seemed to be calm and mysteriously quiet. Brynjolf pulled Lucia closer to him as she shivered.

The road, invisible under the thick cold blanket, soon started ascending into a gentle slope. Many times did Brynjolf wonder how Shadowmere managed to keep track of where they were, but he always did, carrying them with reassuring certainty. They rounded a mountain covered in ice from top to bottom, and another one, and soon the majestic Shrine to Azura revealed itself in all its beauty. The Moon looked up to the Sun in eternal awe, and that very moment, the real sun peeked from behind the veil of clouds and sent a golden pillar to meet its replica. It glistened as though greeting the newcomers, and then the light faded, leaving nothing but a memory. Both Brynjolf and Lucia stared at it until a mountain peak hid it from their view.

It appeared again when they left the mountain behind, and just a while after, the thin pillars of bright blue light rising up to the heavens announced that the College of Winterhold was very close. Brynjolf frowned as he realized that the whole structure, including the narrow bridge leading to it, was covered in thick mist from which the light was emerging. The city of Winterhold seemed untouched by it, but it was silent and barren and he was certain that elven figures in dark robes and gilded armor would start swarming there the moment they noticed him and Lucia approaching.

"Rotstone?" he asked Lucia silently. She shook her head.

"No, not that. I can't sense anything from that mist, it's like… a barrier of some kind."

"Clever," he commented with appreciation. "Looks like Reinya was right. They hold up pretty well."

"Will they let us in?"

"I wouldn't worry about that. The question is, will they let us out after they let us in?"

Lucia smiled at that. The two of them dismounted Shadowmere, taking their backpacks and double checking they had everything they needed.

"Looks like you're on your own for a while," Brynjolf addressed his steed. "Don't let the elves get you. We'll meet up down there." He pointed to the hidden cliff supporting the College. Shadowmere closed his eyes in agreement, and with that, he set for the shore. Brynjolf drew a long breath.

"Do you remember the instructions?" he turned to Lucia. She nodded again without uttering a word. "Let's go then."

They walked towards the city. Just as Brynjolf expected, a number of elves appeared from behind the corners shortly, heading in their direction. The thief tensed inwardly but forced his body to seem relaxed, taking casual steps and even smiling. An elf raised a brow.

"Our Lord watches for time immemorial. Watches as time passes, cleanses our souls and grants us eternity," Brynjolf said in a neutral tone.

"Our Lord listens to our pleas. He listens and answers in song, and its sound heals us. Our Lord sings fire and his wings protect us," Lucia added.

"You have arrived," a woman, Bosmer if Brynjolf's guess was correct, or maybe a child of a Bosmer and an Altmer, remarked coolly. "Sooner than we expected, the message arrived just a while ago. How is our Master Talwen?"

"Quite well, thank you," Brynjolf replied with a bow. "We were instructed to get to action as soon as possible."

"Of course you were. Mind your language, this is not how a thief speaks."

"Certainly. I mean… right." _Is there even such a thing as a 'Thief Language'?_

"It's _aye_. What's your name?"

"Brynjolf."

"Good," the elf nodded approvingly. "And yours?" she nodded to Lucia. The little girl hesitated.

"Sena—"

"No!" the woman snarled angrily. "Not your real name! You're the Dragonborn's daughter!"

"Lucia?" she whispered timidly.

"Yes, Lucia. I must say I'm impressed. Even if it's Master Talwen we're talking about… her illusion spells keep improving by the minute."

"They sure do," Brynjolf said, adjusting his accent in the process. The day he had spent learning the refined Aldmeri dialect had left him awfully exhausted, but luckily, as one who made a living by talking to people, he had managed to master it at last. To his advantage, he was now allowed to keep switching between his own and the Aldmeri one, pretending to struggle to learn the former. The elf woman narrowed her eyes, turning them into two slits. "Maybe we should get going…"

"Yes, that would be for the best. We will be waiting for your signal. If there is none, we are attacking at dawn."

Brynjolf barely managed not to wince. This was not a part of the plan. Why hadn't Reinya Talwen mentioned this? He threw a quick glance to Lucia, regaining some of his composure when he saw the little girl stand there, expressionless. It was different from what they had agreed on, but it seemed that the elves were yet convinced.

"All right," he nodded. "We'll be on our way then." And he turned around, beckoning to Lucia.

"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!" the elf called after him, the rest of the elves becoming her echo.

"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!" Brynjolf repeated, fighting his other half who wished to hiss the words, spitting on every single syllable.

"For the glory of the Aldmeri Dominion!" Lucia joined, her voice slightly lower.

"What a bunch of idiots," Brynjolf muttered under his breath. "And their passwords stink." Lucia smirked.

They strode towards the bridge to the College and crouched at its foot, crawling up in absolute silence until thick whiteness swallowed them. Brynjolf took the lead and grabbed Lucia's hand, but they were soon forced to stop as he collided with a solid invisible wall. He tried to tap on it, but no sound came from it. He drew the enchanted dagger from his shoe and tried to jab its tip into the barrier. It emitted a deep sound which resonated in Brynjolf's ears like the deepest of the lute strings, and no sooner did it fade out than the thief was thrown up in the air and back to the start of the bridge. He stared at the cold rock creating most of it as though he was trying to persuade it to let him pass. It stared back at him, grey as the sky before a storm, but nothing changed. He sighed.

Lucia was examining the barrier when he approached it again, her brows furrowed with concentration. Then she stepped back a little and fired a lightning bolt at it. Ripples spread from the spot where the bolt had struck, and for a moment, the barrier quivered, as if a giant was standing at the bottom of the cliff and shaking it violently. Then, a stern looking elegant Altmer woman appeared beneath it, dressed in grey mage robes with ornaments entwining over her chest in the same gentle pink sand color as her hair had. Her beautiful olive skin contrasted the white snow blanket under her feet and her deep, amber eyes were firmly locked upon Brynjolf and Lucia.

"Not quite who I was expecting," she frowned. Her voice was sharp and clear, and at that instant, Brynjolf knew he wouldn't like get into arguments with this one. "Who in the name of Oblivion are you?"

"Brynjolf of the Riften Thieves Guild," the thief introduced himself, "and this is Lucia, the Dragonborn's daughter. We come on her behalf."

The wrinkle between the elf's eyes deepened. "You mean our Arch-Mage? And where's the proof that you are who you claim to be?"

"Is Enthir home?" Brynjolf asked. The Altmer raised a brow. "He knows me."

"Enthir, you say? Just a moment." She raised her hand and a small flying creature appeared just a few feet from her. Brynjolf's brow shot up with unwitting curiosity as he wondered what it might be. It seemed to be a tiny wyrm, but he had never heard of anyone conjuring such a beast. Before he could study it in detail, however, it darted away, across the bridge to the College. The mage watched him attentively, measuring him as though she was trying to read his thoughts, and by the way her lips curled up in an almost imperceptible smirk, he could not help thinking that she managed to do so. He averted his gaze, turning to Lucia who, for instance, locked her eyes on the mage, using the fact that the woman did not feel compelled to pay her any attention at all. There was an odd silence, and the three of them waited without a word.

A good while later, a silent sound of footsteps announced the arrival of another person. It was a Bosmer with a single lock of tea-colored hair traversing his otherwise shaved head and with an exceptionally long chin, clad in a combination of a grey tunic made in the same cut as the common Winterhold mage robes, pants of the same color and deep blue buttonless overcoat girded by a wide blue belt. He put up a soft, friendly smile as he approached, and Brynjolf couldn't contain a smile of his own when he noticed the satchel that this man always carried with him, no matter what the occasion. This was Enthir, all right.

"Brynjolf?" he uttered with one brow raised. "Is it really you?"

"Sure as Oblivion it is," the thief said.

"So, can you prove it somehow?" the mage woman asked Brynjolf, albeit eyeing Enthir. The Bosmer tilted his head to the side and then raised his finger in an energetic gesture.

"Got it!" he said with a grin. "What was the first present that Gallus gave me when we met?"

Brynjolf's eyes widened. "Are you kidding me? How am I… wait, I haven't said anything. Yet."

"Just logic, lurker," Enthir winked.

"Lur… oh! Your own window handle!"

Enthir laughed. "Right you are! Yep, Faralda, I can assure you that this is good ol' Brynjolf."

The mage shook her head and raised her hand. "Come quickly inside then," she urged as she opened the barrier, making a hole which closely resembled a doorway. Brynjolf and Lucia slipped through it in an instant and it closed behind them immediately.

"I am Faralda, Destruction teacher," the Altmer said coolly, inviting them to accompany her to the College. Enthir nodded at them encouragingly and took the lead. "So what brings you here? You say you come on behalf of the Dragonborn? Where is she?"

"I don't know, truth be told," the thief sighed. "We were separated two days ago. She went on some Dragonborn business to, eh… save Skyrim."

"Naturally." Brynjolf could almost touch the sarcasm in that one word. "So? Why are you here?"

"Two reasons," he explained. "First is this lil' lass." He nodded to Lucia and Faralda shot her a quick glance.

"What about her?" She entered the bridge, but Brynjolf froze when the view of it opened before his eyes. He gasped and felt shivers run down his spine, as though someone had dumped a bucket full of ice on him.

"This," he pointed at the frail structure shakily. As if it sensed his concern, a small shower of crushed stone sank down into the depths of… whatever there was. He forced his lips to move. "It doesn't look like the safest…"

"Well, you can either follow me over the bridge and bear with it or stay stuck here in the cold. The barrier won't block away weather, I can assure you." Faralda gave him a slightly derisive smirk. Enthir laughed.

"Always the same, eh, Bryn?" he chuckled. Brynjolf shook his head, took a deep breath and stepped on the bridge. He instinctively moved his foot a bit to test its surface and durability, but when the bridge did not seem to give any sign of falling apart, he finally proceeded further.

"Don't worry, uncle Brynjolf," Lucia said soothingly. "There's a lot of magic in this stone."

"Except I don't trust magic any more than I'd trust a broken branch," he grumbled silently.

Faralda turned to Lucia with interest, noticing the girl for the first time. "You can _sense_ the magic in the stones? That is… unheard of."

Lucia shrugged. "All kinds of stuff have been happening to me, ever since…" she fell silent, her eyes piercing her shoes.

"Ever since?"

"I don't know," she said shyly. The Altmer frowned. She turned to Brynjolf with a questioning look.

"Ever since what?" she asked.

"We don't know. The elves took her hostage and something happened to her, but she seems to have lost her memories from that time." He stopped himself before revealing her Dragonborn identity. After all, she could not even Shout. Maybe Durnehviir was mistaken.

He pressed his lips closely together as he traversed an especially narrow part of the bridge without a wall on either side, forcing himself to look forward and study Faralda's back. She walked proud, with her back straight and her chin up.

"So, is this the reason you came here? To recover her memories?" she questioned.

"Oh," Brynjolf let out inadvertently. This option had not occurred to him. "Not exactly, but it's a good idea. I just thought she could use some education in magic. She's… skilled."

If Faralda sensed the understatement, she did not express it in any way. "We will test that."

"Is there time for this?" Enthir threw up, furrowing his brows. "There's a bunch of crazed elves out there…" Faralda scoffed. "Ah, sorry, I always forget you're an Altmer as well."

"Not _all_ the Altmer are power hungry beasts, Enthir," she uttered dryly.

"Speaking of which," Brynjolf interjected, "no, I'm afraid the lil' lass will have to wait. Which brings me to the second reason I'm here."

"And that is?"

"They are planning to attack at dawn at the latest."

Faralda stopped abruptly just before stepping on the solid ground on the other side of the bridge, making Brynjolf nearly crash into her. The last bits of color retreated from his face.

"So soon?" she asked, concern apparent from her voice. The first emotion she showed so far. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. We got here under the pretense that we belong to the Thalmor."

" _How?_ " Enthir wondered, shaking his head in disbelief. Faralda finally started walking again, albeit a lot more slowly than before, and Brynjolf cursed her inwardly.

"That's a long story," he said with a smile. "Too bad I won't see their faces when they find out the truth."

Enthir grinned, but his smile quickly shrank into a worried frown when he realized the situation. "Hopefully we'll all be far away from here then," he remarked grimly.

"You won't fight them?" Brynjolf asked with a raised brow. He exhaled as he finally left the bridge.

"No," Faralda replied evenly. "They outnumber us heavily. But we'll let the College fight for us."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll see soon enough."

They continued to a round courtyard with a fountain at the center, a tall pillar of bright blue light in its middle shooting up to the heavens, illuminating the statue of a cloaked mage beneath it, his hands spread out in a sweeping gesture and his robes flowing in the imaginary wind. Faralda pointed to the great building situated across the courtyard, urging them to follow her. A huge studded door made in thick wood led into it, and above it loomed a tall, narrow window made of countless tiny plates of glass. The building itself seemed large enough to host a small army. It was connected to the rest of the complex by an elegant set of arcades spread along the courtyard's perimeter. Brynjolf gaped at the structure and could not help but whistle. The whole complex seemed more secure than any of the Skyrim main cities, protected by thick, tall walls, and the fact that it was situated on a cliff and the only way to get inside would involve crossing an uncomfortably narrow bridge which most definitely could not hold more than ten people certainly helped keep the advantage on the College's side. And he did not even take into account the amount of magic involved. The only way would be to take down the whole cliff. Brynjolf's stomach knotted.

"Are you sure you wouldn't hold up against them?" he asked, his brow up in his hair.

"Oh we would," Faralda said with a shrug. "But why risk casualties?"

The thief nodded. A sound argument. The Destruction Master seemed like a respectful person and managed to instantly shake down his belief that mages did not care for anything other than themselves and their research.

They proceeded through the door to a small entrance area and then to the vast space beyond it, tall pillars rising up to the boundless ceiling and supporting the building. Another fountain of blue light was situated at the center. Brynjolf shivered. It was almost colder here than it was outside, and even his Nord blood suffered in the chill. What was it that Faralda had said about leaving him out in the cold?

Two people, both wearing the same clothing as Enthir, were propped against a window sill to their right, discussing something in silence. Upon their arrival, they raised their heads, studying the group of newcomers with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. An elderly Nord tilted his head to the side while a quasi-bald Breton knit his brows.

"New people at this time?" the Nord asked. "What happened?"

"Still waiting for an explanation," Faralda said neutrally. "I need to gather everyone here. And by everyone, I mean everyone. Would you two be so kind…"

"To drag Urag from the library?" the Breton scowled. "No, thanks, I'll leave it to the others."

"It's a matter of life and death…"

"And the damned orc values the books more than any of our lives."

"Phinis–"

"I'll do it," the Nord sighed. "You go get the students," he nodded to the Breton.

They darted away, leaving the four of them in the hall. Brynjolf looked around, searching for a place to seat himself, but could not find any. The prospect of sitting on the cold stone steps surrounding the fountain did not seem appealing in the least, and so he just sighed and circled the room uneasily.

Soon, it started to fill with all sorts of people. A slight, almost frail Dunmer man with white hair and pleasantly soft, deep voice came first, hastily talking to Faralda only to be brushed off by her. Next were three youngsters whose robes were different in both cut and color from the rest of the mages – a Khajiit with his chin high up and a sharp look in his face, a Dunmer woman who was constantly playing with a flask in her hand, and the last one was a Nord boy who kept turning his head and scanning his surroundings timidly. Then came another hairless Breton in light brown robes, scrutinizing their little party with critical eye, a blonde Altmer woman with a smug look in her face followed by a Breton woman with beautiful umber hair plaited in a complicated set of braids, her thick lips pressed tightly together. Brynjolf stopped counting and just watched them coming. And just as he was about to fall into a state of mental slumber, the elderly Nord returned with a balding orc man with tufts of white hair beneath his ears, grumbling all the way until they stopped by one of the pillars. Brynjolf could think of hundreds of patriotic Nords who would die with envy at the orc's thick white full beard.

"I'm telling you, Tolfdir, if this is going to be about anything less than the end of the world, I swear…" The orc seemed furious, baring his massive canines.

"You need to calm down, Urag…"

"Of course a _Nord_ would never understand the value of the knowledge stored in my books," the orc spat. "If someone takes just one…"

"There is no one left, Urag," Faralda cut in impatiently. "Seems like everyone's here." She scanned the room, now filled with people of various races and genders, all dressed in mage robes, and then stepped on the stairs next to the fountain. She beckoned to Brynjolf to follow her, and he realized that a swarm of butterflies settled in his stomach. Was he supposed to talk in front of these people? Aye, he was used to that… when he needed to trick them into donating whatever unneeded coin they carried to his organization. Telling how things really were? That was an entirely different thing.

"Good," she said, nodding to the crowd. "Would everyone please calm down so our… guest here can explain what's going on?"

The mages stilled themselves, turning their looks to the two of them expectantly. The thief sighed.

"Who is our guest anyway?" The one whom Faralda had previously called Phinis asked. Brynjolf did not like the slightly mocking tone in his voice.

"His name is Brynjolf," Enthir hurried with an answer. "He's a friend of mine from Riften."

"So he's a thief?" one of the mages exclaimed, and everyone started muttering amongst themselves.

"How did he even get here? Can the thieves now sneak up past a magical barrier?"

"Please!" Enthir called. "It does not matter now, does it? We're on the same side! Do you think the Thieves Guild would want the Thalmor to take over? They most certainly do not! It's, as they say, bad for business."

 _Well said, Enthir_ , Brynjolf commended silently. The crowd finally settled down, and Faralda nodded again.

"The whole story, please," she said.

Brynjolf let out a worn breath. "So… where do I start?"

"The beginning?" someone offered silently. Brynjolf rolled his eyes.

"Well, the important part is, that we were traveling with the Dragonborn… I mean, with your Arch-Mage," he could not help but smirk at the mention of that title, "to stop the Thalmor. They abducted her daughter," several mages exchanged looks when the word daughter came up, and some even looked disappointed which, for some reason, annoyed Brynjolf, "and we had to recover her on the way. We parted then and I was left to take care of the lil' lass. She showed quite some promise in the arcane arts," he carefully pronounced the term, not being used to it himself, "so I decided to take her here. On our way we were stopped by certain illusionist. This person somehow managed to convince the Thalmor that we were ordinary Altmer from their ranks, masked by her illusion spells to look like this, and sent us here under the pretense that we were to infiltrate the College and… disable you."

Enthir laughed from the top of his lungs. "And I thought they were smart! That's higher race for you!"

Faralda and the blonde Altmer shot him a furious look which he returned with a shrug.

"So? You learned something, did you not?" Faralda asked Brynjolf with a raised brow.

"When we got here, the elves asked us to assist them in an attack. They're planning on taking down the College."

Murmurs rose again from the crowd as people started chattering and exchanging worried looks.

"Silence!" Faralda commanded firmly. "Anything else you've learned?"

"Truth be told, not much. I presume the elves… I mean the Thalmor," he amended quickly upon noticing Faralda's frown, "don't want to go into detail. In case you tortured us to confessing or something, you know."

A few scoffs resounded throughout the hall. "As if we were ever keen on adopting _their own_ barbaric methods," Urag, the orc, scowled. One corner of Brynjolf's mouth twitched at the controversy of his appearance and his words.

"What we do know is that they asked us to send them a signal," he continued. "We received orders from our contact and there is a set of signals among them. Though," he added with a frown, a deep wrinkle forming between his eyes, "I'm afraid we might have just walked into a trap. We know what each signal means, but their actual meaning might be different from what we were told."

"Hmm," Urag muttered, "seems like you've some experience being used."

"Being used?" Brynjolf let out a sardonic scoff. "That's definitely an understatement."

"So, we have until dawn to prepare for an attack?" Tolfdir, the Nord elder, asked, scratching the nape of his neck. "That's not much, but it's… manageable. Drevis," he turned to the white-haired Dunmer, "how are the focal points?"

"I keep them clean, especially at a time like this. Ready to use whenever we'll need 'em."

"Good. And J'zargo?"

"Oh Tolfdir, you don't mean to…" Faralda gasped, shaking her head fiercely. The young Dumner woman and her Nord companion chuckled and exchanged amused looks.

"Yes, Master Wizard?" the young Khajiit replied. He was overly eager for Brynjolf's taste.

"Do you still have that spell of yours that accidentally turned people into squirrels?"

"I do, but…"

"Perfect. We'll be using it."

Faralda slapped her forehead. Brynjolf was trying to figure what to make out of all this, but the description of the spell reminded him of one time when Aislinn had told him a story about how she had accidentally ended up in the mental world of Pelagius the Mad. In the end, she had gotten a peculiar staff out of that adventure, and its effects sounded very much like this spell.

"So what are we to do now?" he asked, watching as the mages talked amongst themselves, trying to prepare for the upcoming attack.

"You will now go with me and Tolfdir and share everything you know about the elves," Faralda commanded. "And then you'll wait until we prepare everything necessary."

He nodded and waved to Lucia who was currently studying the robes of all the present mages. She followed him obediently, but her eyes kept drifting to the enchanted garments. Faralda and Tolfdir gave a few quick orders before heading to a door at one side of the entrance area. Brynjolf noticed that the orc followed them closely. They walked up a spiraling staircase, cold and narrow, and he trembled slightly. At last, they entered another round room with bookcases all around, a cozy set of armchairs and a table in its middle. This place was surprisingly warm, and the air smelled of old paper, ink and… for the Nine's sake, Brynjolf would have never guessed that stored knowledge could smell, but even the countless records and all the wisdom stored in the ancient tomes seemed to have a fragrance of their own, distinct and mysterious. This place was somewhat amazing, and now he understood why Urag would be willing to die for it.

They sat in the chairs and Brynjolf was asked a lot of questions. He kept answering one after another, and long minutes turned into hours. The signal for attack, signal for "standby", one for "imminent danger", and then there were also _subsignals_ , as Reinya had called them. It was all just a tiny bit of magic painted in color and sent to the receiver. The Squire had told him about elven tactics, how they tended to wear their opponents down before striking, how illusion magic was their favorite sort.

 _"_ _No wards can protect you from illusions,"_ she had said, _"you can only hope you'll manage to see through them. Which is what is best about our plan. Elves are generally good at casting illusions, but they are quite bad at seeing through them because they tend to keep their heads in the clouds. Therefore they often overestimate their power. They will not even try to see your 'true self', and you can expect them to rely on their illusions when a fight occurs."_

So far, he had to agree, especially when it came to certain ageless Aldmer.

"But you said she might have set a trap for you, haven't you?" Faralda inquired.

"Aye, it's not impossible."

"Then we have to be cautious. We will prepare everything, and when it's done, you will send the signal to attack. There are two possible outcomes. Either they will suspect there's something wrong and they won't attack. No harm comes to us then. Or they're going to take the bait."

"And then?"

She smirked. "This place becomes a slaughterhouse."

High elves always managed to say even the most hideous things with the sweetest smile on their lips, Faralda being no exception to that. Brynjolf shuddered.

"The library stays intact, right?" Urag grumbled.

"Sterile, Urag. But you'll have to invest your own bit of magic as well."

"For the books? Gladly." The word "books" was spelled with almost divine reverence.

"Let us prepare then," Tolfdir said, rising from his seat. "Drevis should be done with the focal points and Phinis is definitely working wonders down at the Atronach forge. I suppose I could set up a few wards with Colette while you and Urag prepare the core?"

"That sounds good," the Altmer nodded. "Stability protections?"

"Ah, let the youngsters work on the boring stuff," he winked.

"As you wish, Master Wizard," she replied, a corner of her mouth twitching.

Brynjolf was sent downstairs, back to the great hall that they called Hall of the Elements, along with Lucia who was soon absorbed into watching the elderly Dunmer as he sent his magic into the central fountain. After a while, she moved closer and the thief watched them engage in a heated conversation about magic. Although the dark elf obviously specialized in Illusion, which was the only school of magic Brynjolf actually knew something about, he soon lost track of whatever they were discussing, and so his thoughts drifted to grim topics like his past or the fate of Skyrim. Lucia, on the contrary, seemed ecstatic, like he had never seen her before. He sighed with resignation and finally seated himself on the window sill, shivering with cold, but it subsided as he closed his eyes. Strangely enough, warmth flooded his body.

It was long past nightfall when they woke him up. Everyone had a quick meal before setting out. Brynjolf watched with a trace of concern as everyone spread around the College.

"We have to look like we don't expect a thing," Drevis, the Dunmer illusionist, informed him. "Otherwise it would all be for nothing, no?"

There was just one thing in Brynjolf's mind that described the whole situation for him. He did not like battles. _Especially_ the ones with lots of magic involved. He preferred things to be more subtle.

He got up sleepily and made his way to the front gate. Lucia joined him shortly. Upon Tolfdir's nod, he let out his magic, coloring it light gold, and sent it out, towards the city. It flew away like a butterfly, leaving behind a trace of soft glow which dissipated soon after it had appeared. The only thing left was to wait.

"What about the barrier?" he asked, looking at the mist dome spreading around the whole complex.

"Weakened," Tolfdir shrugged. "We transferred some of its magic back into the focal points. I wonder what tricks they have up their sleeve though. I'm quite certain that they took into account that the moment they touch the barrier, we will know. So they have to be quick enough to deny us the time to prepare. Numbers won't help them here."

Suddenly, a feeling of apprehension flooded Brynjolf's thoughts and he shuddered. It was as though a dark shadow shrouded the College, never mind it was the middle of the night and most of the dim moonlight from the outside died out as it met the mist veil above. It was as though…

Lucia gripped his hand and Brynjolf followed her gaze. He gasped. "Get everyone out," he ordered.

"There is still…"

"They don't need numbers. They have that." He pointed up to the skies where a winged silhouette cut through the air. It shrieked and Brynjolf felt his hairs stand on end.

And Tolfdir said the last thing the thief would expect him to articulate. "Oh shit."

They ran inside, calling to the rest of the College. People were gathering in front of the Hall of the Elements, Faralda with her sleeves rolled up, electric sparks enveloping one hand of hers while the other one sparkled with frost. She grinned savagely, her eyes wide and fixed on the beast.

"Dragon or not," she whispered, her voice carrying all over the courtyard nevertheless, "they don't stand a chance. I pity that beast. The Arch-Mage once mentioned how they feel when they are caged… and we _can_ cage it."

"Faralda," Tolfdir warned, biting his lip, "this is dangerous."

"This whole business is dangerous, Tolfdir. Let's do this."

"But…" Lucia raised her voice timidly.

"What is it, lil' lass?"

"It's so sad," she said quietly.

"This is war, little girl," Tolfdir told her firmly but not disapprovingly. "It's always sad."

"I mean the dragon," she objected. "It's in pain."

"You can…"

"A long story," Brynjolf interrupted. "Listen, lass… I know it's awful, but sometimes sacrifices are necessary. I won't say it's good, but you too want to live on, right? For yourself, for Skyrim, and for… Aislinn."

Lucia watched the dragon circle the place. Then it swooped down at once, preventing her from answering. It sent a wave of violet light on the crowd, and a number of wards glowed above their head at once. Faralda fired. Brynjolf, standing slightly aloof, took a startled breath. Lucia screamed.

"Uncle Brynjolf!" she called shakily. She raised her hands, casting a ward of her own, knocking the surprised thief down. The Breton woman with beautiful hair gaped at her incredulously.

"Did you just… where did you learn this?" she breathed. Her voice was strangely unpleasant, almost childish. Far more than Lucia's, Brynjolf realized.

"Mama told me how to do it," she shrugged.

"Is this…" the mage started, but she was interrupted again.

"We need to get out of here!" Drevis shouted.

"No!" Faralda opposed. "We're perfectly capable of taking care of that thing!" she pointed to the dragon. "Wait till the Thalmor get here! Otherwise there's no point in all of this!"

"Fine! But if someone gets hurt…"

"Then send them down there immediately! You, little girl!" she waved to Lucia. "Can you cast a lightning rune?"

"I don't know…"

"Any lightning spell?"

"Sparks?" Lucia said sheepishly.

Faralda sighed, but Drevis smiled encouragingly. "Try to concentrate the spell in the palms of your hands. It will start to tingle. When it's too much, focus on the ground you want to cover. Send your raw magicka first, find the slightest crevices in the ground and then send the spell inside. It will spread around eventually. You have to seal it with magicka again so it doesn't go out at once. Luckily, the College is not made in marble, the stone will work in your favor. We need to cover the perimeter, except that place over there," she waved to a corner between the Hall of the Elements and the arcade on its left. "Drevis, come help us! Everybody else, protect us!"

Just as the barrier above them trembled, glowing cracks appearing on its surface, Lucia nodded and skipped to the arcade promptly, glancing at the mages who raised their wards as another shot came down. This time, it was fire. Faralda raised her hands, gathering energy around them, and upon shooting, a circle appeared on the ground, colored ghostly blue, and at its center glowed a daedric symbol, Lyr. The Imperial girl mimicked her movement, and soon her own lightning shot the ground. Faralda raised her brow.

"What is this?" she wondered, staring at the rune. It was fairly similar in color, but jagged on the edges, and the symbol in its heart was different. Two thin lines ended with a small beak, and on their other side was a tiny dot placed precisely between them. It looked like a rough engraving.

Lucia stared at it, just as surprised. "That's… draconic, I think," she mumbled.

"A draconic rune?" Drevis frowned. "Will it work the same?"

"It should," Lucia nodded. "I can feel it."

"Unbelievable," Faralda shook her head. A dragon roar came from the distance as the beast prepared to charge again. "We need to hurry, quickly."

They set to work, covering the perimeter of the place with similar runes. No sooner did they manage to gather with the rest of the mages, than a noise came from the main gate, and when they looked in its direction, a number of hooded figures stood there with their hands up, sparks crackling around them. There was a momentary quiet. Then, Oblivion broke out.

"The barrier!" shouted Tolfdir, and several mages pointed their spells at the bright blue focal point at the center of the courtyard. It shone with blinding light and drops of white-blue fire shot from it in all directions. Brynjolf watched as they connected with the other fountains – one on the bridge, one rising from the Hall of the Elements and two from the other two towers around the main gate, and connected above the complex, renewing the damaged misty dome. One of the present Thalmor gasped.

"It's a trap!" he yelled from the top of his lungs. He looked before him, jumping in the air in attempt to avoid getting hit by the lightning rune.

"Yeah, no kidding!" Brynjolf smirked and grabbed the closest rock. He threw it with all his might. The elf died on the spot.

"The dragon!" someone called.

"Don't mind it. It's…"

Lucia screamed. Brynjolf turned after her in an instant.

"Lass…"

"It hurts!" she gasped. He looked at the dragon. Sure as day, she felt its suffering.

"We have to…"

"…get out!" someone finished for him. "The Midden, now!"

Everybody set into motion. They swarmed around a small trapdoor at the end of one of the arcades, Tolfdir, being the responsible Master Wizard he was, taking the lead. "One after another!" he urged. "The students first!"

The young Nord, along with his Khajiit friend and the Dunmeri girl entered the trapdoor. A few mages followed. Brynjolf sent Lucia ahead, sticking close behind her.

"Cowards!" a Thalmor woman shrieked, running towards them.

"Reaaally?" Enthir drawled, grimacing at her. "And sending a dragon at us isn't cowardly at all? Here! A farewell gift!"

With that, he only shot a tiny spark of magicka at the statue beneath the fountain. Fire blazed from its hands, spreading its flaming tongues towards the intruders. They screamed and jumped a few steps backwards, only to be hit by the lightning from the remaining runes. Enthir rubbed his hands against each other in satisfaction.

"There you go," he scoffed.

"There will be more," Drevis informed him.

"Which is why we are heading down there, no?"

"Better not keep the others waiting."

"Right."

A mass of bodies was gathered in the tunnels down beneath the College. Brynjolf nodded in appreciation, although the cold was even more intense than in the rest of the place. He looked at Lucia who, just like him, trembled, her teeth chattering silently. He rubbed her shoulder gently.

"I don't think we're gonna stay here. It'll soon get warmer," he whispered to her, and just as he did, Tolfdir commanded them to continue.

They stopped by a circular room with a wide stone platform at its center. On top of it was engraved a large daedric O, and each circular level of the platform was lined with candles on the edges. At the front was something which closely resembled a small forge, connected to a small golden box, most definitely made by the Dwemer. The balding Breton by the name Phinis Gestor stepped forward and groped about his pockets, withdrawing several small things out of there. Brynjolf recognized fire salts and some other alchemy ingredients, but there were things he had never seen before, like a strangely shaped pearlescent claw or grass which looked as though it was soaked in blood. The Breton put it inside the box and stirred up the fire. He signaled to the other mages and everyone hurried on, deeper in the tunnels.

The whole complex was a huge maze of ice and stone, and they had to fight their way through several ice wraiths and trolls. Brynjolf had to pull some of the mages with him when he noticed them take a turn in the wrong direction. Especially an Altmer woman named Nirya was an utterly hopeless case. This was where he shone, relying on his thief instincts, and so he was ordered to close the line together with Faralda and watch out for potential strays. From behind he could hear noises as the elven army broke into the tunnels, trying to catch up. Then, there was a loud crack and a lot of bestial laughter. Dremora, Brynjolf realized. There must have been so many of them… more noises, and then came wild squeaking, as though a swarm of squirrels were fighting for a piece of bread thrown to them. He realized it probably really was a swarm of squirrels.

"Good riddance," he snorted. His Altmer companion smirked.

Upon entering a wooden door, too frail to last a single fire bolt, as Brynjolf thought, Faralda sealed it with runes from both sides. Brynjolf offered to lock it, which Faralda welcomed with a rare smile of hers, imbuing the lock with magic which spanned all over the door up to its hinges.

"That'll take some time to get through," she commented approvingly. They rushed forward and caught up with the others, entering a glacier cave. Ice was everywhere now, and the cold was getting under Brynjolf's skin, freezing his blood. Even the occupants of the College shivered now, all of them running at a steady pace not only before the Thalmor, but also to warm themselves, until they reached a tall crevice leading outside. Tolfdir urged everyone to exit the icy cave, and only Faralda and Nirya stayed with him, the latter being sent away shortly after. Some ancient magic circulated the ice, making it sparkle even in the night, and Brynjolf suspected it was connected to the focal points at the College. His suspicion proved right when both Tolfdir and Faralda raised their hands, pulling at the magical energy to extend the barrier. His eyes suddenly widened in shock.

"Are you shutting them inside?" the thief asked in disbelief.

"What do you want us to do?" Faralda scoffed. "Let them hunt us down like some wild animals?"

"That's not what I…"

Tolfdir let out a sigh. "It's not like we enjoy doing this," he said with a shake of his head. "But our priority is to protect our College, and that primarily includes the staff. Do we need to go this far? Well, since all the survivors are sooner or later going to join their ranks again and come at us in greater numbers, yes, I think we do."

"Okay," Brynjolf said cautiously. "I was just… surprised, I guess."

"That happens a lot when people see our methods, actually," Faralda replied matter-of-factly. "We do not tend to dawdle over our problems."

"I can see that," he grimaced.

The two casters joined him at the mouth of the cave after a while. They stood on a ledge made of solid stone, facing a huge block of ice spreading across a bay. The sound of splashing water welcomed them, along with the reflection of the dawning sun on its surface. Brynjolf drew in the fresh air and couldn't help a smile when the warm sunrays touched his skin. He heard a number of content sighs from the mages, but then another sound caught his attention. An almost unnoticeable moan… and when he looked to find its source, his gaze rested upon the weary Lucia. He rushed to her and caught her just before she would have touched the ground. She looked at him drowsily.

"I'm sorry, uncle Brynjolf," she breathed. "I'm so tired…"

"She must be," Faralda commented from behind. "A complete novice, setting up so many runes…"

" _You're_ the one who made her do that," Brynjolf remarked dryly. Faralda raised her hands in a defensive gesture.

"I know, I know," she said regretfully. "I… I was curious about what she could do. I'll have Colette put her back on her feet again."

"You do that," he nodded, "or your Arch-Mage is going to kill you."

Faralda visibly shuddered. "We better hurry and get to safety then," she uttered decisively.

The group of the mages then walked down the slope descending to the shore, vast ocean ahead, the great cliff supporting the College behind, shrouded in a veil of magical mist. Brynjolf threw a glance over his shoulder, contemplating the battle which had not really been a battle. The little lass was resting in his arms, breathing steadily as he treaded through the snowdrifts. He sighed and took another step. This was going to be the longest vacation he had ever had in all his thieving history, but at least one thing was now certain. Reinya Talwen seemed to be on his side.

* * *

 _Another chapter out. The next one should be out shortly, because I have it written already and I just need to proofread it and change the sloppiest parts. As for this one… I apologize if it's bad, especially the end of it. I was planning on releasing it three days ago, but I barely managed to use my computer at all. And then the worst part came today. I lost one of my best friends. His mom called me in the morning, informing me they had found him in his bed, he wasn't breathing and they couldn't help him anymore. So I spent the whole day in delirium. I still can't believe something like this happened, but I decided I can't just sit and brood over it, and if there was one thing this particular friend would wish for me, it would be to live. So I wrote the rest of my chapter as I had planned. He always supported me in writing this story, so I'd like to dedicate this chapter to him. Auri, you were one of the best people I've ever met. And I will never ever forget everything you've done for me._

 _Pietersielie:_ _That comment actually made me laugh. First time I've been called a sadist. (Guess I shouldn't be too happy about it, but it was somewhat sweet. :))_

 _Eric:_ _Not the last time you hear of the theatre, I can assure you. Glad you liked it. :)_

 _dart:_ _No cheese again. I guess squirrels will have to do. But no cliffhanger this time. ;)_

 _Again, thanks to all the people who kindly favorited or followed the story, and big thanks to everyone who reviewed. You're keeping me motivated. Also, as always, thanks to dart0808 for the beta.  
_

 _Mirwen_


	41. Condolences

**Chapter 41: Condolences**

 _Something is wrong,_ was the first thought that occurred to Aislinn when she finally woke up, although she could not figure what it was. She lay with her eyes closed for a good while before deciding to face whatever reality was awaiting her outside of the cozy warmth that currently occupied her mind. But wait! This was it.

It was quiet. So quiet that she could not remember the last time it had been like this. When was it? Before all this had even begun… before she had learnt she was the Dragonborn. Her first night in Whiterun, probably the happiest time she had had ever since Oblivion had broken out in Helgen, amidst a swarm of soldiers craving for her death. She could still see his form as though it was yesterday, a mighty flying beast with dark, jagged silhouette, darker than the darkest of the moonless nights on Nirn, and his eyes were the color of blood, lined with tones of fiery magma. Who had been more frightening that day? The men who had tried to execute her, or this dragon who, at that time, hadn't had a clue about who she was? She had long forgotten this fear, but for some reason, she now felt it anew. She had gotten so used to voices in her head that the sudden quiet scared her and reminded her of things she had thought lost forever. She opened her eyes.

She could not see what was above her, for whatever it was, it was lost in the darkness surrounding the place, penetrated only by a few lanterns hanging on long chains attached to the supposed ceiling. She sat up, looking around, and sharp pain in her upper arm reminded her she had suffered an injury.

 _Right,_ she thought drowsily, _Bruma._

She touched the arm shakily, discovering a set of bandages carefully wrapped around it. A bit of blood had soaked through them, creating a dark stain. She examined herself, realizing she was put into linen underthings instead of her armor, and a thin blanket, too small to cover all of her frame, was placed over her. She turned her eyes to the rest of the place. It was filled with tall pillars made in marble, and at a closer look, she realized that two rows of benches were surrounding the aisle where she lay. This must be the Chapel.

Many people were lying about, usually wrapped up in bandages. A little aloof sat a hooded healer, currently working on a nasty looking wound on the leg of a man lying beside him.

She rose from her resting place and staggered at once, gaining support in a nearby pillar as her head started spinning and a colorful display of stars twirled and danced before her eyes. A man was sitting with his back propped against the opposite side of it, shrouded in darkness, but he jumped on his feet the moment he noticed movement from behind.

"Easy now," he whispered to her gently, driving her back to her temporary bed. Aislinn recognized Tye's voice. "You need to rest properly after losing so much blood."

Her vision finally cleared and she squinted at the Imperial, vaguely discerning the shape of his young face in the dim light of the lanterns. The shadow of his nose danced on it as the flames flickered merrily, attracting Aislinn's attention until her eyes slid down to his body. She raised her brow when she saw what mostly looked like a heavy set of dragonscale armor. Except it wasn't. The scales were made of a mixture of ebony and some peculiar silver-ish metal which she did not know, but the replica looked very authentic, even to her. Except for the color.

"Have I lost so much? What happened?" she asked quietly.

"That's what I wanted to ask you," he returned. "I only saw you getting grabbed by that beast, and before I knew it, you were plummeting on its back towards that tower. And when I finally got there… you were there with its scales and bones only. Feverish and delirious."

Aislinn scratched her head in confusion. Delirious? She only remembered a lot of pain… and a voice within her. She shuddered.

"I don't know," she said almost inaudibly.

"Anyway, I… I wanted to say I'm sorry for how I treated you before. It seems some mercenaries have the sense of honor yet. And I doubt you are a Thalmor after everything you've done."

"Mer…" she stopped herself. Did it mean that her cover had not been blown yet? No one realized who she really was? So she was safe. Relatively. She exhaled deeply.

"How long was I…"

"Out? Twelve hours since I carried you here, I'd say."

" _You_ carried me here?"

"Someone had to," he breathed evasively. She chuckled quietly.

"Thank you…"

There was a moment of silence when both of them just sat there, deep in their thoughts. She realized it felt quite comfortable, not having to think of anything in particular, not hearing voices in her head… so Aislinn simply let her mind wander wherever it wanted to, without any real purpose or direction. Silent crackling of the fires in the lanterns was strangely soothing. She would not mind at all if she could stay like this for the rest of her days. But no… something was still missing. Certain red-haired thief who was currently… she actually did not know where. He, and a few other people. If she could just surround herself with them right now, right here… that would probably be the best moment of her life.

"I miss them…" she whispered inadvertently.

"Sorry?" Tye asked with his brow cocked.

"Ah, nothing. Just thinking about my friends… and family."

"So… you have a loving family?"

"Well, it's not like any of them are related to me."

"I see… so you're the same as me? Cast away by your blood kin?"

"No… I… don't remember them. I don't know who my parents are. Or any of my relatives."

"I'm sorry…"

"Don't be," she shook her head. "It might be better than being cast away. I can still hope that one day, I'm going to find them and be loved by them."

"I guess. Well, I'm not going to make peace with my father ever again. Last time I saw him, we had an awful fight… and then, after a few months of solitude, I learnt that he had been assassinated." At that moment, Tye seemed incredibly lonely, staring into the gap between the backrest and the bottom of a nearby bench absentmindedly as his fingers drew circles on his knee.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Aislinn whispered sympathetically. "But maybe there's still a chance… you never know where _you_ end up after you die." She smiled at him slightly. He snorted.

"Even if I want to talk to him… I wouldn't like to end up in the land of Sithis."

She stopped with a frown. "Wait… was your father slain by the Dark Brotherhood?"

"That he was."

"If you don't mind my asking… who was your father?"

Tye gave her a long, pensive look, as though he was weighing her value. His eyes pierced her and for a moment, she felt an insuppressible urge to avert her gaze. Then he sighed.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

"All I can say is that he was an important official," he whispered. "Made too many enemies to be left alone."

"I'm sorry," was the only thing she managed to say. Although she did not know whether she was the one who had killed his father, she still felt somewhat responsible.

"No… no, don't be. It was to be expected. Like I said, he made so many enemies… among both the Thalmor and his own people, among some smaller clans and resistance groups… in the end, he could not even decide on what was right and wrong. That's the kind of person he was. His death was almost given. It's me who should be sorry… I could not face him then and instead chose to run like a coward." There was pain in his eyes, but also certain poise, and for the first time, he appeared to be a grown man.

"What if I tell you that I'm the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood?" was what she wanted to ask. She decided against it, choosing a somewhat diplomatic approach instead. "You… it almost sounds like you don't hate the Dark Brotherhood…"

"That is because I've never heard of them killing anyone on their own accord. They do business… and as much as it is nasty, in the end, they only fulfill their clients' wishes."

Aislinn stared at him in disbelief. She could not decide whether this was mature or just foolish, but he reminded her of someone, though she could not recall who exactly. She looked at the young boy before her, listened to his resigned voice, and contemplated what she knew about him. A runaway who founds a theatre to fight for his land. Young and naïve, but with a pure heart. She gave him a compassionate look.

"You pity me, don't you?" he asked, closing his eyes.

"I don't pity you," Aislinn said quietly. "It's just… you sounded very lonely."

"Why?"

"Because despite proudly leading a group full of enthusiastic freedom fighters, it seems that deep inside you're battling on your own."

Tye sighed and there was a short lull before he spoke again. "I underestimated you," he said as he opened his eyes again, watching the lantern light flicker on the wall. "Stop… stop speaking my mind."

"I'm sorry. But you should know that we all have our demons. You're not alone. You're never alone."

"What is it that ails _you_ , Lynn?"

There was a silence. Aislinn lowered her head and watched Tye's shadow dance on the floor in the flickering light.

"I think you owe it to me," he said after a while. She pressed her fingers to her temples and took a deep breath.

"I… I don't know who I am," she whispered at last. "I woke up one day with no recollection of my past, and wandered Skyrim ever since. I was told that I have a destiny to follow, I had my work cut out for me… and since I didn't have anything else to do anyway, I just did what I was told. I did everything. The good things, the bad things, anything others wanted from me. I never found a task too difficult or unappealing, so there was no such thing as refusing a request for me, and soon I was drowning in money and fame. But as time went on, I was more and more confused and unhappy. People knew my face, and they knew I would do pretty much anything for them, as long as I got something in return. They started… using me, making me do jobs they didn't want to do themselves. And I strayed even further from discovering who I was. I… I still don't know it. I'm still following my so-called destiny, still doing what others want… and the only thing I can truly fear is living an empty life. I don't even know what I _want_."

Tye bit on his lip as he watched her. "So… what is that so-called destiny of yours?" he asked.

"That's a secret," she smiled mysteriously.

"Hey! Not fair. Here I'm telling you about myself…"

"You didn't tell me everything either, and I don't want to know," she said firmly. "Everything at the right time."

"I don't like it," he grunted and pursed his lips. Aislinn chuckled. The child was back.

"You don't have to like it, but I'm still not telling you."

"I'm not leaving you until you tell me."

"Seems like you're going to accompany me to the Imperial City then," she smirked.

"That I was planning anyway," he said with a shrug. Aislinn furrowed her brows.

"Sorry, I might have just misheard you. Did you say you're going with me to the Imperial City?"

"Aye, that I did," he imitated Ardur's accent.

"Sorry, but I'm not taking companions."

"And I'm not asking you. It's not like you can chase me away, is it?"

"Mind telling me your reasons?" she asked with exasperation.

"Simple. I decided it's about time I went back and faced my problems. If nobody else will, I am going to put a stop to all this. You can help me… though it would mean doing more favors."

Aislinn pondered what 'all this' might mean. "Have you even thought about this? That city is full of elves…"

"And that's the problem! Bruma is the last city in Cyrodiil that is _not_ full of them. We need to do something, and we need to do it quick. Yes, I've thought about it, all right? I've thought it over and over and over again… and the result was always the same. My mind is screaming at me to stop running away. You… you probably don't understand. You don't know what fear is. Not this kind of fear anyway."

"You'll take this back," she snarled quietly, "or not only you will _not_ accompany me anywhere, but you'll also end up with half of your bones broken."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I just told you one of my secrets… I told you my deepest worries… and you _immediately_ turned them against me! You… you're just an annoying little brat who knows nothing but to judge people!" She snapped that last sentence so loud that a few sleeping people winced and opened their eyes abruptly and the healer turned his head after her angrily. Panting, she stood up and stomped to the large entrance door, ignoring the twirling colorful images before her eyes. She heard Tye call to her from behind.

"Hey! Where do you think you're going?!"

"To get some fresh air!" she retorted and exited the hall. The cold night air sent chills down her spine and stung on her skin. She was reminded of how poorly she was dressed, but she stubbornly refused to go back in the Chapel, treading through the city. Her vision cleared and she could see the destroyed gate, damaged walls and buildings and a vague outline of something piled up beneath the gateway, outside of the city. Several parts of the city were covered in embers, dark clouds of heavy smoke rose from the ground and scorched structures, and covered the sky. Ashes were in the air and she found it hard to breathe. The silhouettes of the houses and other buildings, lightless as they were yet completely deserted, emitted an eerie aura which made Aislinn's hairs stand on end. She stepped on something, and when she bent down to see what it was, she found a singed broken elven dagger. She took it in her hands thoughtfully and studied its ornate texture. Behind her, the Chapel door opened again and from it emerged fuming Tye.

She ignored him and proceeded through the city, squinting in the dark as she tried to examine her surroundings. A chilly gust of wind blew her hair to her face and she shivered. Her hand shot up to remove the stray locks from her face and suddenly she realized how long it had been since she had last cut it. Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard a voice. It did not belong to Tye, or to anyone from the outside. She heard it from the inside, and a painful memory erupted in her. She gasped and grabbed a protruding stone in a nearby wall, failing to notice it was loose. It sent her falling to the ground.

 _"_ _Sleep well, Dragonborn?"_ it said and she could feel Dagon's malicious grin.

"Shut up," she snarled quietly.

"Sorry?"

She raised her head. This time, it was Tye, looking at her confoundedly.

"N-no, I mean…" she stuttered before being cut off again.

 _"_ _Come on, Dragonborn, answer to him."_ The Daedric Prince inside her sounded genuinely amused. She opened her mouth again.

"Are… are you all right?" Tye's voice sounded as though it came from beneath a thick wall.

"I…"

 _"_ _What's wrong? Having problems? Oh, maybe I can help…"_

"Shut up…" She pressed her fingers to her temples tightly.

"Whoa there! You don't have to be so…"

 _"_ _I can put a stop to this. You only need to listen to me…"_

"Lynn?"

"Enough! Screw you! Shut up, you piece of blasted trollheaded daedra! I hope you drown in skeever piss and choke on its droppings!"

"What in Oblivion is wrong with you?!" Tye lashed out, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her violently. She wrenched herself free at once, staggering back and barely avoiding crashing into the wall behind her.

"Leave me alone," she panted, unable to stop her voice from trembling. "Please…"

Tye looked at her in confusion. He knit his eyebrows until a deep wrinkle appeared on his forehead and came closer to her.

"It's the same as before," he said, his tone a little gentler than before. "What is happening to you?" He touched her forehead, placing his other hand on the back of her head to prevent her from recoiling. "You're burning up," he breathed.

"Please, don't…"

"You need to…" his voice faded away as a flood of pain took over her body. Her eyelids closed tightly.

 _"_ _I said listen to me,_ Dovakhiin _!"_ the voice in her head thundered and she could feel a scoff in the sound of her title. _"I know you want power. The dragon in you is practically begging for it…"_

She vaguely felt herself being dragged away, fighting in her mind to maintain her sanity. Dagon kept calling to her and sending waves of agony through her flesh until she was on the verge of passing out again… and then, suddenly, there was quiet once more. She inhaled deeply as she opened her eyes to be greeted by the dull, flickering light of the lanterns hanging down from the Chapel ceiling. Tye was holding her firmly and she had to wonder where such a slight boy got the strength to do so. She gently pushed him away, standing on her feet weakly.

"No, don't strain yourself again…"

"I'm fine," she opposed. Strangely enough, she indeed was. The soothing quiet had taken over her head again.

"Just a moment ago you were shouting curses all around," he snorted indignantly. "What in Ob… I mean, what was that? It seemed painful… as though you were possessed by something."

Aislinn raised a brow. "I can stand a curse or two," she said evasively.

"This is a sacred place. Who would cuss at a place like this? Anyway, how about we… what?"

Aislinn gaped at him as though she was looking at some kind of divine apparition, her mouth open ajar and her frame still.

" _What?!_ " he repeated impatiently.

"That's it!" she laughed triumphantly. "This is a sacred place!"

With that, she made for the remote part of the Chapel, quickly pacing among the benches and bedrolls. Occasionally, a head rose to watch her pass, but no one tried to stop her. She reached the elegant apsis with a large basin at its center creating the main altar. Nine smaller altars were lining its edges, each consecrated to one deity. Tye kept close in tow, but she did not wait for him to catch up. She first walked to the center, washing her face in the basin, and then granted each smaller altar a long, pensive look. Now which god she should pray to?

Definitely not Zenithar, she wasn't even close to being a merchant. Dibella wasn't her type of goddess at all, Julianos's wisdom wouldn't do her much good and Mara simply didn't come to her mind when it came to warding off evil powers. Praying to Arkay when fighting for her life would earn her a laugh and Stendarr's mercy was the last thing she wanted, although his Vigilants would probably tell her otherwise. Three gods remained. Kynareth, Akatosh, and Talos, each of whom she respected greatly. She shrugged and stepped towards the altar of Akatosh, as he was the one who had protected her before, bowing and kneeling before the little dragon statue.

"I bow before you, Akatosh, in reverence and eternal loyalty," she said quietly. "Please, let your fires protect my soul and the hand of your eternal clock guide my way." She felt the power of the Divine Father fill her with new energy and determination. Behind her, Tye clapped his hands quietly.

"Great," he uttered dryly. "Now that you've prayed, maybe you could tell me what this was all about?"

Aislinn sighed as she turned to face him. "I don't see a point in that, so I won't." She strode past him, heading for her bedroll.

"I demand…"

Aislinn's face twisted in an angry glare. She stopped with her face mere inches from his and spoke in a dangerously low voice. "You demand _nothing_ and I'll tell you nothing. What are you going to do with that information, hmm? Judge again, as you _always_ do? Scoff at me for being a weakling? Let's make an agreement, shall we? I won't ask you about your problems, you won't ask me about mine. Neither of us will talk or even care about the other, we go our own way and we won't have to deal with each other ever again. I'd say that sounds pretty fair, no?"

Tye took a step backwards but kept his firm, rebellious look. "No," he said. "I will not agree to this. And you might consider getting on my good side, because that could persuade Ardy to help you… and as far as I'm concerned, you need his help."

Aislinn stared at him in disbelief. His father had obviously been a politician. But even so, this man's level of arrogance was plain outrageous.

"You were right," she nodded, her voice a mere whisper now. "You're a coward. You can't face your problems head on. You only rely on others and their own difficulties. Let me just say this to you. I don't need you to solve my problems and lick Ardur's boots for me. I'll deal with him on my own. If there's just a bit of brain in that head of his, he'll be able to make his own decision. He won't need you to make it for him and neither will I. Good night."

She left the startled youngster standing there like a statue, his jaw dropped so low that she was afraid it was going to fall off. She walked past the many soldiers and fighters who lay injured on the ground, avoiding eye contact at their curious glances. She lay down on her bedroll and wrapped herself in the blanket as much as she could, but the sleep would not come. She was not used to the sudden silence in her head, and there was so much to contemplate on that all the exhaustion from the previous day and the wild confrontation of Mehrunes Dagon had given way to her curiosity. She could not appreciate the absence of the voices, for her own thoughts screamed at her just as clearly, and no sooner did she finally fall into slumber than the skies outside turned the beautiful shade of orange lotus flower.

A sting on her face woke her up and she vaguely realized someone had been slapping her cheeks. Her eyelids shot apart as she sat up abruptly, reaching for a dagger that wasn't there. She stared into Ardur's bright, turquoise eyes and almost mouthed the word Brynjolf, stopping herself in the last second.

"Good, you're finally awake," he grumbled. "Got a new dress for you, so put that on. A Deliverance ceremony is going to take place soon, and the Countess wants to see you right after that."

"The Countess?" Aislinn muttered drowsily, squinting at the Nord. She noticed he was covered in bandages and there was a dark ugly bruise spreading over the cheekbone on the left side of his face.

"Aye, the Countess. Don't ask me what she wants, I didn't ask. Not that I care." The last sentence sounded strangely rough and insincere. Aislinn raised a brow.

"Right," she nodded slowly, reaching for a dress that was handed to her. Her eyes widened as she touched the smooth garment which reflected the light coming through the tall windows in shades of soft vermillion. There was no lining or visible decorations, but its folds spanned from the left shoulder down to the right armpit, hip and lower like a fan. It had no real sleeves, but a large shawl of the same color accompanied it. Asilinn gave Ardur a look full of awe.

"Tye's been telling me you were possessed by something…" he uttered with a smirk, "but you seem pretty normal… well, except for looking like a monkey who's been given a golden egg instead of her favorite coconut."

Aislinn let out a snort as he turned to leave.

"Time to make yourself human for a while," he said over his shoulder.

"Um, Ardur?" she called to him.

"Yes?"

"How long does it take from here to the Imperial City? Considering I want to avoid the roads."

"Who knows," he shrugged.

"Wait! What do you…" she began, but he was gone. Only then she discovered that many of the people sleeping in the Chapel had left their places while others were treated by mages, priests and healers. From time to time, a silent moan echoed throughout the nave, followed by a placating whisper. Aislinn conveniently hid herself behind one of the pillars and quickly changed into the dress, albeit feeling entirely out of place. She prayed briefly again and left the Chapel.

A sight of a small crowd of people dressed in formal clothing of Imperial red or Bruma yellow welcomed her, walking down the streets and heading for the main city gate. Their grim faces and quiet step underlined the overall atmosphere. Ashes were still in the air, but not as much as the previous night, and occasional pillars of smoke rose to the skies. A few scattered silhouettes of scorched beams and other structures loomed over the city. Aislinn could now take a good look at the gate. The inner part had fallen apart completely and the people passing through it stared at the protruding stones apprehensively, watching out for possible slides.

She joined them silently, pretending to be just another regular citizen of Bruma. No one paid her any attention, and she reveled in the comfortable feeling of casual walk without having to rush anywhere or talk to anyone. It occurred to her suddenly that it was strange that even the dragons quietened when the blessing of the gods was present, but as she pondered on whether dragons feared the Divines, a rich, deep voice resounded in her head.

 _Not quite, Dovakhiin. But even a dovah falls silent before the gods. They do not frighten us, no, but we find their presence… soothing._

 _Paarthurnax!_ she rejoiced inwardly. It had been a while since she had last felt his Thu'um resonate inside her.

 _Drem yol lok, Dovakhiin,_ he said softly. _Your progress pleases me._

 _What progress?_ Aislinn asked bemusedly.

 _You are slowly becoming aware of who you really are. You may find the presence of a Daedric Prince troublesome, painful even, but as I see it, it will only make you stronger in the end._

 _Becoming aware of who I am? Me?_ Aislinn scoffed, faintly realizing she did it aloud. She covered her mouth as several faces turned to her.

 _Do not belittle yourself, Dovakhiin. But for now, forget your troubles and go weep for your kind. They deserve it._

Aislinn looked around, finding herself outside of the city walls, surrounded by people gathered before a huge pile of corpses. Not a single Altmer was among them, and Nords and Imperials were by far the most numerous of all races in there. Aislinn knew then that these were the people who had fought and given their lives for Bruma in that last battle.

 _How do you always see the things around me so clearly?_ she asked the ancient dragon inside her.

 _We are not as caged here as some of my kin might think. It is only a matter of acceptance… and determination. Staadnau zii los stin dovah._

Aislinn felt Paarthurnax's message sink in her, and for a reason she failed to understand, her lips curled up in a smile. _Free spirit marks a free dragon._ It was a thought she could adopt.

She quickly hid her smile when a few people granted her looks of exasperation. Instead, she inspected the place, her eyes finding a temporary wooden platform. On it stood Tye, Ardur, Captain Somnir, two guards in yellow uniforms and a slight woman in yellow dress with a stern look in her sharp-featured face. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, some of it plaited in thin, elegant braids while the rest remained loose, and on top of her head sat a fine golden circlet with no decorations. Her distinct cheekbones and deep, blue-gray eyes suggested Nordic ancestry, but her slight figure, thin lips and dark hair made her look like an Imperial. This must be the Countess, Aislinn thought.

Then, her gaze slid sideways, to a familiar rusty haired muscular man who, despite standing amongst the many people in the crowd, seemed so alone that it made her heart ache. A sporadic tear streaked down his cheek, and his round nose was now bright red instead of the gentle pink she had seen on him before. She made her way to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Dra… Lynn," he whispered to her as he contained a sob. "What am I going to do now?"

"Fight, so that his soul can be put to rest without regret," she said. "He died with honor."

"I couldn't do anything… only watch him die. He slew so many before falling… I was held back by those… monsters…" his words were drowned in silent sobs. Aislinn reached out to wipe a tear away from his face, and immediately she was buried in his bear-like arms, catching her breath.

"Fluff… I can't breathe…"

"I'm sorry," he mouthed as he let her go. "Oh… they're handing out the Soul Lights already."

"Soul Lights?"

"A tradition of ours," he explained, his voice slightly shaky. "When the corpses are lit and the fire spreads, everyone lights their candle with it. And then the souls of our deceased ascend."

Aislinn opened her mouth to ask a question, but she was interrupted as an elderly Imperial woman with a cart approached them. Fluff reached to the cart with his strong hand and withdrew a small glass bowl filled with transparent liquid, and out of it stuck a thin wick. Aislinn followed his example and they stood there in silence until every last person was holding a bowl. Then, a voice spoke, and its pure sound reminded Aislinn of water running over a field of pebbles.

"Dear citizens of Bruma," the Countess said, "dear wanderers and heroes who have fought valiantly for your land! We are gathered here today to see the souls of those who gave their lives for us and for our freedom to Aetherius. Many have passed in that fierce battle and many will join the gods and the heroes of the old in lands that no living soul may enter. They fought so we may live, and died with unparalleled honor. Their deeds will never be forgotten. Songs will be sung and their passing will be commemorated, tears will be shed and their honor will be fought for. I bow before the gods and I plead. Let their souls find their way to the afterlife so we may see them once more, and together we shall rejoice in the gods' realms." There was a pause before the Countess continued her speech, taking a deep breath and scanning everyone with sharp eyes.

"Ingeir of the clan Storm-Caller, proud warrior and loving father," she called a name and accompanied her words with a slight bow, "Petra the Alchemist, who saved many a soul, Sanya the Mountain Runner, whose smile was contagious, Larinor One-Eyed, the grumpy old man who would always give sweets after the long day…" The enumeration continued for so long that Aislinn had lost track of time. Fluff winced as the name "Tervar Broken-Blade" was called, accompanied by "also known as Ruff, a man whose tongue stung almost as his sword and whose heart was braver than a lion's."

"May your brave souls find peace in the sacred lands of the deceased, and Arkay protect you for eternity," the Countess concluded, raising her bowl. "Let us pray now for our fallen comrades."

Silence reigned for a moment, interrupted by a guard with a torch which he carefully placed amidst the arranged bodies. Soft crackling filled the air as the fire slowly but surely spread, from one piece of garment to another, from head to head, from body to body, until its flames consumed most of the pile. Then, the Countess's voice rang throughout the place once more.

"Now we shall guide these souls to the divine realms where they rightly belong." She stepped down from the platform and held out her bowl, placing it close to the fire. The wick caught on fire shortly and she raised the light high above her head. Somnir, Tye and Ardur followed, and at last, the Countess beckoned to everyone else. Just like the others, Fluff and Aislinn lit their bowls and raised them above their heads. And then, as though something was pulling them up, all the lights broke off the wicks and took to the sky, slowly spreading above the heads of the citizens.

"How…" Aislinn whispered, gazing up with both her eyes and mouth wide open.

"Nobody really knows," Fluff said quietly, "but they always do that."

"They're beautiful." She stood there, awestruck, her eyes shifting from light to light, as though hundreds of stars decided to join their sisters at once. Even in the daylight, they shone brightly, flooding the ground beneath with soft, golden glow. And then, the sound of singing voices filled the air as people chanted.

 _To war we march  
our souls as one  
to gods we pray  
our fear is gone_

 _To battle now  
we raise our swords  
the stench of blood  
within our hordes_

 _But as our foes  
pierce through our heart  
the fateful blades  
tear us apart_

 _To dust we go  
as darkness falls  
before our eyes  
are marble halls_

 _Farewell our home  
we pass with time  
within our souls  
resounds doom's chime_

 _What lies in wait  
for us to see  
are Divines' smiles  
they set us free_

The lights faded slowly, and so did the voices. There was quiet, interrupted only by scarce sobs, but most of the people standing around the pyre were standing with their heads up and pride mirrored in their faces. Even the few children present were silent, although occasional tear slid down their cheeks.

"And so they have passed," the Countess said at last, her voice silent, and yet the wind carried it strong, every syllable distinct to Aislinn's ears. Everyone bowed slightly, and then the crowd dispersed in silence. Aislinn was one of the few to stay, along with Fluff, a few guards, the Countess with her company and, as she suddenly noticed, Daren who kept gazing at her steadily. She nodded to him, and he joined her with a soft smile.

"At least someone is still well alive," he remarked. "Didn't you want to leave yesterday?"

"I did, but I couldn't possibly leave the city in the lurch with clear conscience."

"And for that we are infinitely grateful to you," a voice addressed her and Aislinn turned to face the Countess. "Care to join me for while, Lady Lynn?"

"I'd be honored, My Lady," Aislinn replied and bowed slightly. The Countess curled up her lips and beckoned to her, making for the castle. Aislinn waved Fluff and Daren farewell and the two responded with a nod.

Several guards followed them, as well as Tye and Ardur, the former exhibiting a sour grimace while the latter just tried to look as indifferent as he could.

"Pardon my manners," the Countess said as she paced across the city and every person they met quickly stepped aside to make way for her. "I think I haven't introduced myself yet. I am Countess Arianna Carvain, currently in charge of the city. Normally, my husband would be the one ruling over the city, but he was called to the Imperial City some month ago." There was a slight tremble in her voice as she spoke, and Aislinn could feel her concern. She instantly knew what was coming.

"I am Lynn, a mercenary from Skyrim," she stated politely. "Sorry to hear about your husband."

"I heard from Ardur that you're heading to the Imperial City," she started. _I knew it,_ Aislinn thought with resignation. "And you're supposedly a very skilled fighter… and a shrewd thief."

Aislinn raised a brow and shot Ardur an exasperated glance. The Nord simply shrugged, his eyes blinking innocently. She suppressed a snort.

"You've already done so much… and I will give you as much as I can for your service, but if you could just check if he's safe while you're there, I would reward you with anything you wished for. Money, title, land or servants, weapons and knowledge… you name it."

Aislinn was silent. They passed the Synod and ascended to the second inner circle. Several men walking in the opposite direction were carrying logs which, as Aislinn assumed, had served as temporary bars to fortify the castle, followed by a winded grey-haired woman holding a basket full of herbs and bandages. The citizens were doing everything in their power to recover.

She pondered the Countess's request, knitting her brows in thought. Was this woman using her, or was she sincerely asking her to save her husband's life? Either way, she was a wanted woman, and since she had been possessed by the very daedra that the Thalmor were in contact with, she could not be sure that her presence in Cyrodiil had not been revealed.

They continued to the castle courtyard, past the statue of Martin Septim and inside the castle where Captain Somnir made his leave, hurrying to the barracks. There was a crowd of people inside, quickly packing their things in preparation to return back to their homes, and a number of guards who watched over them cautiously. A man in expensive looking green tunic whom Aislinn thought to be the Countess's steward was running around the place frantically, constantly wiping the sweat from his forehead. He bowed to the passing Countess before heading to the plain looking throne room ahead and to the passage on the opposite side of its entrance.

Arianna Carvain waved to the group to follow him, and soon they found themselves in a vast dining room. In its center stood a long table with a variety of dishes that Aislinn had never seen. Meat balls and rolls were surrounded by baked potatoes and strange white loose matter which looked like grains of sorts. There was milk and various cheeses, and bowls filled with sundry fruits in many shapes and colors, and pies along with assorted pastries lay on the smaller tables standing slightly aside. Among all that stood scattered bottles with wine. Aislinn's stomach growled and she earned herself a laugh from the Countess.

"You haven't eaten since yesterday morning, have you?" she said gently. "Let's not waste any more time then. Dig in, we can talk later."

"I…" Aislinn stammered, "I don't know what to say…"

"You don't have to say anything, dear," the Countess smiled. "After what you've done, it's only fitting that I at least treat you to a meal."

"It's not poisoned," Ardur remarked playfully, walking ahead and picking up an apple. "Look." He bit into the juicy fruit enthusiastically. His mouth widened in a delightful grin. Aislinn chuckled.

The Countess beckoned to a seat by the table, seating herself at its head. Aislinn sat down, facing the door, while Ardur and Tye sat opposite from her, both shifting uneasily. Aislinn figured this was not the regular seating order and felt slightly bad for the two, but did not dare oppose the Countess's decision.

"Let's dig in, then," Arianna said, grabbing herself a slice of bread and some strange cheese in rich orange color that Aislinn had never seen before. Her companions followed her example. Aislinn scanned the foods with her eyes but found herself unable to decide which one she should try first. The Countess laughed.

"It seems you're not used to being able to choose," she said with amusement. "So, what kind of food do you like?"

Aislinn frowned. "Well, I… usually just eat what's in stock. When I catch a deer, I eat venison, when I catch a salmon, it becomes my meal… and when there's nothing to catch… snowberries? They grow everywhere in Skyrim."

Ardur snorted but there was no malice in it. "Just that?" he asked. "Don't you get tired of it?"

"I guess I've never really thought about it."

"Unbelievable… and you're a woman. You're supposed to be picky, carry herbs and spices everywhere, and…" he threw up his hands and shook his head.

"She's not you, Ardy. Not everyone grows up to be such a princess. Well, a thief princess," Tye quipped.

"Hey! Don't reveal…"

"Somnir already did," Tye shrugged. Ardur slapped his forehead.

"That trollbrained daedroth!" he muttered dryly.

Aislinn watched the two with interest, deciding to take a pie with slices of yellow fruit she could not identify. Ardur's eyes followed her hand.

"Forgot to say that one's actually poisoned," he said with a dead serious expression. Aislinn grimaced.

"Have you heard the tale of Moresan?" she asked with a smile.

"No?"

"He was a hero of the old times, doing good deeds for the people. There was no beast he feared and no task he would refuse, so slowly but surely he became popular among the folks. He was more popular than the king himself, and in difficult times, everyone turned to him instead of the king. So, his king invited him to the palace and threw a feast for him."

She paused, taking a bite of her pie. Everyone was listening, even the Countess watched her with interest. She opened her mouth to continue.

"Moresan was hesitant to take a bite of anything, so the king called for his taster and had him test all of the dishes in front of the hero. Moresan was placated and ate plenty at the feast. But you know what happened then?"

"He died," Ardur said instantly, accompanying his words with a smirk.

"He did. The king was so afraid of the hero that he felt the need to get rid of him, so he had ordered his alchemist to brew a special poison and also an antidote which he then gave to the taster and everyone else, save for Moresan."

"Never take food from another," Ardur scoffed. "Where did you learn that story? Sounds awfully elvish. Altmeri, even."

Aislinn froze. Indeed, where had she learnt it? She could not remember and for some reason, it made her feel uneasy. "I… don't remember," she said truthfully. Ardur frowned.

"So, you believe we're the same as that king, even though there's a whole city we could command to kill you and they wouldn't think twice before doing so?" he questioned, twisting his lips. Aislinn laughed at that.

"You just answered your own question." She theatrically ate the rest of her pie in one gulp and reached for the closest bowl of curd cheese.

Tye placed a hand on Ardur's shoulder and opened his mouth to speak, but the Countess was faster. "Oh Ardur, stop teasing our guest," she scolded him gently. Then she turned to Aislinn. "I believe we owe you a reward. A poison would be a poor compensation for what you have done."

"There's really no need…"

"I can give you as much as five thousand septims for helping to save the city at your own life's risk, but if you want to exchange that for something else I can provide, I would be happy to oblige."

"Five thousand?!" Aislinn's jaw dropped. She noticed Tye's scowl at her reaction but paid him no attention. Instead, a quiet voice in her head reminded her of why she was here. She sighed. "That's very generous of you, but I'm afraid I can't really carry much to the Imperial city. But there is something you could do for me. If I could have just one set of some very light armor and an Amulet of Akatosh, that would help me a lot."

"Amulet of Akatosh?" the Countess repeated, cocking her brow in question. "Yes, that could be arranged… pardon my curiosity, but why do you need one?"

"Let me guess," Tye said with a triumphant smirk. "You were possessed by a daedra."

Aislinn winced, but then she nodded in silence, her eyes digging into her bowl.

"Truly?" the Countess wondered. "That explains a lot… although I'd say this one would fit you better." She reached to the nape of her neck and took off an amulet looking like a double-edged war axe. An Amulet of Talos… Aislinn raised her brow.

"Why?" she asked simply.

The Countess shot her a mysterious smile and her eyes wandered to Tye, Ardur and back to Aislinn. "Because it fits your nature."

Aislinn's body tensed up and she clutched the edge of the table with her fingers. The Countess knew. She knew her secret, and yet, she had clearly decided against telling Tye and Ardur who were now looking at her, question in their eyes. But _how_? There was a short silence as Aislinn considered her options, a little lost as to what she should say, but then she spoke at last.

"Will it help?"

The Countess let out an amused laugh, like a mother lecturing her child good-naturedly. "As far as I know, the Dragon God's blood ran in Talos's veins."

Aislinn nodded. That made sense. "Amulet of Talos it is, then."

Arianna's steward quickly took the amulet and presented it to Aislinn almost reverently. She accepted it with a silent "Thank you" and attached it to her neck at once, but regretted it instantly. She could feel hear heart beat faster as it called to her, trying to let her Thu'um out. She raised the pendant to her eye level and blinked, trying to conceal her struggle from Tye and Ardur. The latter granted her a friendly smirk.

"I… guess I can't say a word against you anymore," he said in a semi-defeated voice. "No Thalmor would ever put an Amulet of Talos on."

"Still going on about that?" Aislinn shook her head.

"Well, Ardur was always quick to jump to a conclusion," the Countess commented.

"No, I wasn't! I was _just_ cautious. That's different."

Tye laughed. "A bit overcautious, my friend. Anyway, it's good that things are finally straightened out. I was worried what you might say about me going with her to the Imperial City."

Ardur turned to his companion, eyes wide with disbelief. "That's the first time I hear about this."

"I guess. I'm telling you now."

"Hey, don't even try this with me…"

"You're the one who usually acts all innocent and all!"

"Exactly, so you stick with your own act. Anyway, what are you even going to do there?"

"That's _exactly_ what I was asking him!" Aislinn cut in. Ardur shot her a look.

"Are you two plotting together or what?!" Tye groaned, furrowing his brows. "Like I said, it's time for me to face things head on."

"You told her," Ardur scowled. It wasn't a question.

"No, actually I didn't," Tye raised his hands defensively. "I might have to, though…"

"What? Why are you suddenly leaving me out, Tye? Now who's the one plotting here?"

"There goes your paranoia aga–"

"Enough!" the Countess bellowed, glaring at both of the men angrily. "Both of you stop behaving like children who got a single present together, arguing who's going to have it first. Tye, I only have one question. You do realize that, as the head of one of the biggest resistance groups there are, your responsibility is not only to take care of the land, but also to stay alive?"

Tye let out a weary sigh. "Then what am I supposed to do?" he threw up his hands helplessly.

"That was not the question."

Aislinn smiled inwardly, glad that the Countess was on her side. She seemed so innocent, casual and relaxed… and yet she reminded her of certain black-furred Khajiit friend of hers.

"But I don't get it…"

"Silly," Ardur said, letting out a resigned breath, and patted his friend on the head. "You're right. There's so much you don't get. Countess, permission to go on a mission? Goal: Protect our only hope."

"I do not like this," the Countess replied, "but I don't think there's any other option. Hopefully the elves won't be attacking Bruma any soon. I presume you'll be taking some of your men with you?"

"I'll be… sending them out," the thief nodded.

Aislinn cleared her throat to attract everyone's attention. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

The Countess gave Aislinn the most pleading and desperate look she had ever seen on anyone, including her sweet daughters. "I know this is sudden, especially added to the business with my husband… but please, would you be so kind and make sure that no harm comes to these two? The fate of the Empire depends on it."

The Dragonborn was left speechless. What could she say to this? _Ah, damn you, Arianna Carvain… damn you, Empire,_ she thought to herself. _Definitely glad I'm not on the other side of the barricade._ She shot a look to her new companions.

"At least you won't have to worry about the map," Ardur said with a comforting smile and put his hand around her shoulders. She stiffened. "Monkey time, then. Looks like you're stuck with me again, partner."

Aislinn rolled her eyes. "Wonderful! Just pack your things already."

* * *

 _So… it was about time we took a break from all that action, so here you go. Hopefully this chapter has served its purpose. You might find a slight inconsistency with Oblivion in my description of the altars of the Nine Divines, so I'd just like to point out that I am aware that there weren't any statues in the actual game. The altars were barely distinguishable from each other, so I took the liberty of changing that to match the Skyrim style rather than sticking to the original game. And who knows, two hundred years have passed, maybe they changed the altars over the time. ;)_

 _As for "blocking" Mehrunes Dagon with the power of the Nine, well, I'm not planning for it to work perfectly, as you're going to see in one of the following chapters, but I wanted to point out certain important fact which, coincidentally, has a lot to do with Lucia and the way she uses her powers. Speaking of which, I'm kinda happy to see you're enjoying Lucia's progress. She's getting out of hand, to be honest, but it's fun writing her._

 _By the way… why do my chapters keep getting so long? :D  
(Also, don't ever try to compose a song with only four syllables per line. It's terrible!)_

 _Pietersielie:_ _Thank you very much! I think I'm much better now, though I guess it's gonna come back to me when I attend the funeral, which is planned on Thursday. This chapter was kinda on the topic. Did not even plan for it…  
Anyway, don't worry, you'll get your answers. Well, I can't say "soon", since a lot is going to happen before everything is revealed, but you will. Man, how I enjoy adding just a small part of the puzzle every chapter. And your comment made me laugh again. :D_

 _Eric:_ _Thank you. Actually, taking a break is the last thing I want to do, doing something helps me cope with it somehow… I think. As for your comment on the story… well, anything less than perfect is heresy, Urag is one of my most favorite characters of all time. I just love that guy… I mean orc. :D Reminds me I should get to my Winterhold fic soon… Anyway, about Lucia and Aislinn… well, I guess they're kinda… complementary. They'll be both important at the end of the day._

 _Thanks to everyone who favorited/followed/reviewed this story, and I hope you continue to give me your support. Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_

* * *

 _Beta Reader's Note: [LOLOLELOLOL! I WROTE A BETA NOTE WITHOUT MIRWEN'S PERMISSION! Let's see if she notices O_O_

 _Also, I would like to inform you that there is NOT ENOUGH CHEESE._

 _Consider this a warning._

 _Hehehehahhahah!_

 _-Dart_

 _P.S. Mirmir should have wrote a haiku. Those are fun.]_

* * *

 _Yes, dart, I noticed. G-docs track changes, in case you haven't noticed. Nice note. :3  
Though I won't write haiku in Skyrim. Unless the Akaviri come for a visit. I thought about a part of the story taking place in Akavir, but no, that would be too much. Better to save some ideas for other stories. :D_

 _And hey! I actually added CHEESE to this chapter! Ungrateful! :'(_

 _Thanks for the beta. ;)_

 _Mirwen_


	42. Change of Plans

**Chapter 42: Change of Plans**

To sneak past the Thalmor guards without being noticed proved harder than Babette had expected. It was quasi impossible in the daylight, but even at night, they made extra sure that the patrols did not miss a fly entering the city. And she was getting hungry. The stronger her hunger, the more ferocious she was, which was good lest a fight occurred, but very bad for sneaking. She tended to make silly mistakes, and there was no chance of surviving an imprisonment by the Thalmor, that much she knew. No, this would require planning very much ahead.

She looked up, inspecting the sky. A large passing cloud hid the moons from her sight, and since the wind was just a light breeze, softly caressing the snowy treetops, she knew it would stay there for a while. The elves could only rely on their torches and their own instincts, and even though they could definitely sense more than humans, she knew that in her current form she could beat them. She would notice a presence miles away.

Her small frame silently crawled to a nearby building and waited. The Shrouded Armor she wore concealed her presence almost completely and the three guards who passed her did not even stop to inspect what there was.

"How amusing, watching that Arethil fellow compete against Master Talwen so desperately," one of them chuckled derisively.

"Shh," another hissed timorously. "He got his spies over here, y'know…" Babette smiled. This one was definitely one of Talwen's loyal ones. And, judging by his accent, he was a Dunmer who had grown up in Skyrim, among the Nords.

"Of course," the third said, sarcasm apparent in his voice. "I don't think you need to worry about that. No one would dare touch a person who wins Winterhold for Lady Elenwen. That would mean their swift end."

The second elf suppressed a retort which, of course, only Babette could notice, and their voices faded out slowly. Babette turned her eyes to the road she wanted to follow. Two more patrols traversed it. It could be so easy if she could just kill all of them… but that was unacceptable. The contract stated clearly that no one else was to be harmed while executing the deed. She chased off a stray lock of her hair from her face and silently sneaked to the next building. There was a dark, narrow passage between it and the house on its left, and she used it to hide. She bit her lip as she noticed a hooded figure approach the spot where she was crouching. His step was steady, certain and calm. She needed to get out of there quickly… but where to?

Two more steps…

She promptly jumped up to the roof, grabbing its edge and swinging herself over it, happy that she had remained a child. A moment later, the guard's torch flooded the small space with light, but there was no one to be found. The elf froze, turning his head in slow motion, up and down, left and right, but the little vampire was hidden from his sight. He stretched out his hand and reached for an invisible target, but there was nothing. She heard a silent snort as he backed away cautiously. "You won't hide from me forever," he muttered under his breath.

She scanned her surroundings. This was quite convenient, as there were no lights up on the roofs that would give her away, and no prying eyes she needed to escape from. She climbed the roof in silence which proved to be difficult as the thatches, covered in thin layer of ice, were slippery, deadly if one was not careful. In the end, it wasn't that great after all.

She decided against jumping on the next roof and risking that she would slip and fall down. Instead, she landed soundlessly on the ground like a cat, and her fiery vampire eyes pierced the darkness before her. One last house and she'd be there. One last patrol… she grabbed a rock from the ground and weighed it in the palm of her hand, thinking whether she should try the elves' wits. If only she could make them think that it actually flew from the opposite direction… her lips suddenly curled in a wide smile as it hit her. She _could_!

She picked up another rock. It was slightly heavier than the first one and round, so she added a lighter one with a flat side. Her bright eyes measured the distance between herself and the deepest spot in the water. Her hand took a good aim, swinging several times for practice, and then she threw both of the rocks into the water. Shortly after the splashing sound which echoed through the still of the night, she dropped the first rock on the ground and swiftly pressed herself against the nearest wall. The torchlight missed her completely as the elves' attention turned to the water. She grinned and proceeded along the wall, creeping onto the low terrace and slipping through the door to the house of her target. She shut the door behind herself and locked it with a lockpick – a skill she had been taught by the Listener.

A thin Imperial man in crimson robes with golden emblem of sun around his neck was the only person occupying the place, and he was fully awake, jerking in shock as she turned to him. There was horror in face, doubled when his eyes studied her attire. He shook his head wildly.

"No," he whispered. "Please, no, I haven't done anything! I'm not planning to either!"

Babette took a step forward, leisurely, as though she had come to chat.

"You don't understand," he pleaded. "I have… information. I could be of use to… whoever your employer is… they need to know this… the Dragonborn needs to know it! I know you're with her. Please…"

Babette looked at him almost compassionately. "I'm sorry," she said in her sweet, childlike voice, "but once a contract has been made, no one can change it. No one can ever go against the will of Sithis."

"By the gods… the Brotherhood employs children?" he exhaled.

Babette laughed, waiting for his response.

"L-listen… isn't there a way? Can't you at least… postpone it?"

"Postpone it?" she repeated curiously. Now that was intriguing. "You know that would only make you suffer for longer?" Her smile was angelic.

"Yes, yes! I have information that could prove valuable to you! I know who's behind all this! The rostones, Mehrunes Dagon's involvement! If you spare me for now…" The man sounded desperate, as though he was on the verge of madness.

Nazir liked to say certain thing, Babette remembered. _"It's not like the dead can run away."_ She could not agree more, and wild excitement tickled at the back of her mind.

She scratched her head, looking like a lost child for a moment, and then she nodded. "Very well," she said. "But that information won't do _me_ any good. There's another person you need to tell it to, and I will see to it personally that you do."

"A-and then?"

"We will see," she shrugged. The man could compete with the snow outside in terms of paleness. "For now, you'll have to be my host. I can't possibly leave here secretly with you, so you will have to seek Master Talwen tomorrow. You will say to the guards exactly what I tell you, or we're both as good as dead."

"All right," he exhaled shakily. "Then…" he pointed to the chair behind the small desk standing next to the entrance door. She sat down, scanning the place indifferently. What a waste of a good, dark night, she thought bitterly. And she was so hungry. He would have made a delicious feast. But who was she to put her own needs before the potential benefit to the Listener?

The night passed in relative silence, broken only by an occasional crackle of the candlelight. Soft, violet light made its way through the window as the sun prepared to rise above the eastern horizon, and Babette suddenly felt awfully tired. There was a long day ahead of her.

"When are you permitted to go outside?" she asked the man. He took a breath as his eyes drifted to the window and the dust hanging in the air before it.

"Two hours after dawn," he said, "until noon, and then the three hours before dusk. But only if a guard accompanies us."

"Which is perfectly fine," she nodded. "Listen well. You will ask for Master Talwen and _only_ Master Talwen, requesting an urgent visit. The password will be 'Pyandonea in the dark'. You will only speak to Master Talwen, and only do it when you are asked to. Once you finish, you'll return here and continue to live as you always have."

"A-and then?" he whispered as his lower lip trembled uncontrollably. Babette suppressed a wicked smile.

"Well, you have a choice," she purred. "From me, it'll be a fast delivery. From _them_ ," she purposely omitted the name to make the threat stand out, "a drag through Oblivion while being tied to a cart drawn by spider daedra."

The paleness in his face turned the unhealthy color of green. "This doesn't help me at all," he breathed hoarsely.

"Don't worry," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "Sithis is not cruel to the ones who serve him well."

"N-no!"

"Shhh, don't shout! You don't want them to hear us."

"I'm not so sure about that…"

"Have you ever heard of Thalmor interrogations?" Babette asked with the sweetest smile she could produce. "Because I have. Care to hear a few stories? They usually end up with the victims being 'broken beyond repair', both mentally and physically."

"Stop! Please, stop, I beg you!"

"Then you're going to cooperate?"

"Yes…" he stammered and Babette half expected tears to well up in his eyes. "Whatever you want, just… keep it painless."

"Painless, you say," she repeated thoughtfully. "We'll see about that. For now, I will inform Master Talwen of our deal."

* * *

"You did not kill him?" Reinya Talwen hissed, more with concern than anger. She paced around the dark tower in infinite circles and Babette watched her step curiously.

"I would," the little vampire said with a shrug, "but he seemed to offer something that might be of interest to you."

"I've never heard of the Dark Brotherhood being concerned with things like that." The red-haired elf shot Babette a look full of doubt and suspicion. "What's going on here?"

"This concerns us. It concerns the Listener. Old rules don't apply to us anymore, but I still feel compelled to do everything to protect her. After all, we can't hear our Mother's words without her."

Reinya Talwen visibly shuddered. Babette wondered if it was because of what she had said, or simply because she did not sound like that little innocent girl anymore. After all, she _wasn't_ just a little innocent girl.

"So?" the elf asked with a slightly raised brow. "What am I to expect now?"

"I think it would be better if we separated as soon as possible. He might ask for audience any minute."

"Are you going to kill him then? The Dark Brotherhood cannot go back on their word."

"Yes."

"That's quite selfish of you. Do you know what that means for me?"

"Yes, and I'm prepared for that," Babette said with a smile. "I'm going to make it look like someone else ordered the murder. You can decide who it's going to be."

"What are the conditions?"

"Name someone and I will frame them."

"Any name?"

Babette paused for just a split second. She was aware of the risks of such a promise, but the Dark Brotherhood always prided itself in accomplishing the impossible. She simply knew there was no way back anymore. She took a deep breath and concealed it behind a nonchalant yawn.

"Yes," she replied.

"Then…" Reinya Talwen stared absentmindedly at a protruding stone on the wall, covered in pale green moss, "I need to dispose of a man called Arethil."

"I feel like I've heard that name somewhere before."

"You most likely have. He is a Squire, just like me, and Elenwen's favorite to the point where our rules do not apply to him. And I am warning you, this man is dangerous. He has ears everywhere. No one knows how he manages to gather his information, but if you make one slight mistake, it might cost us all. Treat is as though he already knows of this conversation."

"Nothing like a real challenge," Babette said in that indifferent tone of hers, while deep inside she was slightly worried. True, she had a lot of secret weapons at her disposal, but if this Arethil was as dangerous as Reinya Talwen had suggested, he might already know about them. So she needed to be faster than him. Fortunately, there was a person who, as she believed, would be able to outrun him in his little witch hunt.

The elf frowned at her easygoing attitude. "Listen well," she said urgently. "This is the last time we speak to each other. We cannot meet ever again. You and I have never met each other, nor have we heard of each other's existence."

"Naturally," Babette said with a smile. "Which, of course, brings up certain topic."

"You want a bonus."

Babette's eyelids slowly sank and rose again in confirmation. "Could I make it a favor instead of money?"

"Interesting. There is something that the Dark Brotherhood wants, apart from coin?"

"No. There's something _I_ want."

"Speak up."

"Will you protect the Listener?"

"The Dragonborn? Naturally, I will do everything in my power to aid her, but I don't even know where she is. Word has it that she has gone back to Riften, but that was about two days ago, and we all know she never stays at one place for long. To protect her? How can I promise that?"

"And we all know she will make her appearance sooner or later."

"Do you realize what you are asking for?"

"You just asked me to frame the best informed guy in the Dominion," Babette shrugged and leaned against a stone pillar.

"And who is going to protect my people?" Reinya's hand reached for her hair and buried itself amidst the countless fiery waves.

"She will." A smile curled up on Babette's lips again. The elf threw up her hands in defeat.

"I hope so," she said with a shake of her head. "Stay close. And take this." From the depths of her pocket, Reinya Talwen withdrew what looked like a plain copper amulet and passed it to the girl.

"What is this?" Babette raised a brow.

"You'll see when the time comes. Now off you go."

The little vampire nodded and exited the room in a few jumps.

* * *

"Everybody out!" Reinya Talwen ordered everyone in the room. "And take _her_ out as well." She pointed at a white-haired woman sitting on the humble looking throne in the far end of the hall. The Jarl of Dawnstar sighed and rose from her seat, head high and back straight.

"But Master Talwen," a man in an excessively decorate version of the Thalmor robes started, but the Squire shut him with a single look.

"You too, Neleth, and I will not repeat myself."

"But we are sworn to—"

"Get. Out. Now."

"Yes, Master Talwen…"

The room was soon vacated save for the Squire in command and the Imperial man in red robes who stood before her, trembling and uneasy. The elf kept watching him out of the corner of her eye as she walked around the room and cast one spell after another, sealing doors, windows and every crevice she could think of and creating soundproof walls around them. The tips of her fingers kept flashing in gold, green, blue and purple until she finally walked back with an exhale. She seated herself on the throne, leaning comfortably against the upholstered backrest, and watched the man with her eyes slightly narrowed like a falcon scouting the land for potential prey.

"Well then, Mister Vesuius" she said in a neutral tone, "let us hear what you have to say. I have been informed you have some kind of valuable information for me?"

"Yes, yes," the man nodded enthusiastically. _Too_ enthusiastically, Reinya thought. "I have information on the rotstones and everything that has been going on with Mehrunes Dagon and his champion."

"Truly? Possibly something about the one who killed him?"

"Killed him?" Confusion replaced fear in Silus Vesuius's face for just a moment. Then his finger shot up and he nodded slowly. "Oh, you mean Marilis? No, Lord Dagon would never choose such a weakling as his champion."

"Wait. You mean to tell me that Marilis was _not_ a champion of Mehrunes Dagon? That there is someone else?"

"Correct. Marilis was never more than a pawn, a distraction to keep your eyes away from the real threat."

"Then who _is_ his champion?"

The man took a deep breath and shifted his weight. "Lord Camoran."

"Camoran?" Reinya Talwen repeated, slowly, quietly, fighting a sudden obstacle in her throat to pronounce the word. "Mankar Camoran?"

The man raised a brow and shook his head. "Mankar Camoran has been dead for two centuries. I mean his son, Elion Camoran."

* * *

"Traitor." The word was spat, venom reeking from every sound of it. The man who had articulated it was beautiful, as most high elves were, with pale skin and long, dark hair tied up in a ponytail with two gilded hairpins. He stood on top of the stone steps to the Candlehearth Hall with two other men by his side, looking down at Karliah and her Altmer companion, a woman with obvious liking for rose color as her hair color, shades around her eyes and several parts of her attire suggested. The two women stood close to each other, one holding a dark bow with a nocked arrow while the other readied a spell in one hand and clutched a dagger in the other. They exchanged a quick look before firing. The men surrounding the pale one fell at once.

"Your effort will come to waste," he continued. "We will be avenged." He did not even try to draw his sword before his body fell on top of his comrades.

"I think that was the last of them," Karliah said in her soft, quiet voice and grabbed the arm of her companion, dragging her into one of the niches in the wall on the western side of the plaza. She scanned her surroundings with a quick glance and crouched, gesturing to the Altmer woman to do the same. The place was full of corpses of both men and mer, and among them lay an occasional Argonian. The Altmer gave the scenery a sorrowful look before turning around to face Karliah.

"And we are the last of us. This isn't how it was supposed to be."

A wild roar cut through the air and made both of them raise their heads. Karliah frowned. She was not good with battles, especially not the ones that involved fire-breathing winged beasts and endless beams of magical light, but at least, thanks to all the smoke, cinders and light that occasionally flashed through them, she could not see the sky which also meant no one could see her from there. She could not tell how many dragons were out there, but the less they could see of them the better.

"I know," she said with a heavy sigh, "but we can't give up yet."

"Karliah, this is madness! We should have never—"

"But we're already here. There's no turning back at this point."

"Look, I'm… I'm not a warrior, I'm a simple merchant and—"

"I know. That's why this time we'll do it our way."

The Altmer raised her brow and gave Karliah a questioning look. The dark elf simply shrugged in response and checked the buckles on her boots, tugging at the dagger that was attached to them.

"Listen. Our allies may be dead, but so are theirs. I believe we didn't let anyone escape, and that means they don't know you betrayed them."

"But I didn't."

"Not the point. Can you still keep up the act?"

"What do you want me to do?"

There was a brief silence before Karliah spoke again, failing to hide a slight tremble in her voice. "Nothing, if everything goes as planned."

"And if it doesn't?"

The dark elf leaned to her companion and whispered something in her ear. It was returned with an expression of utter shock.

"What?!" the Altmer squeaked and put her hand over her mouth at once.

"Shhh!"

"You… you're joking, right?"

"I wish I were, Niranye. I wish I were." Karliah's body tensed as she heard footsteps on the ground, light leather boots treading on the thin layer of snow and producing soft, crunching sound. It was soon accompanied by another, heavier sound, and Karliah deduced the other must be a man in light armor, most likely elven or glass. The two of them held their breath.

Karliah dared peek over the edge of the stone platform adjacent to the niche and saw a pair of elves – an armored Altmer man carrying a glass mace and a robed woman whose face she could not see under her hood. She clutched her bow until the knuckles on her hand turned white, but her arrows stayed untouched in her quiver.

"I knew there was something going on here," the woman hissed. Her voice was cold, unpleasant and creaky. "We have to tell the others."

"Shh! Whoever did this might still be here. Let's go."

The footsteps faded away and the two of them exhaled at once.

"We have to get out of here," Niranye urged.

"Nurelion's shop is that way, right?" Karliah waved her hand to the corner on her right.

"It is, but they moved everything useful to the palace courtyard."

"Brilliant. That saves us a lot of trouble."

Niranye raised a brow and granted her friend a curious look.

"Let's go," Karliah said with a shrug and pressed herself to a wall. Niranye followed her example and the two of them proceeded slowly along it to the western part of the city, jumping from niche to niche, using the shadows to hide their presence. There was barely anyone in the streets, the lower parts of the city seemed strangely deserted, as though there was a vacuum in the middle of a sea of troubled waters. Cinders fell from above to silently land on the ground and melt tiny holes into the thin layer of snow beneath. There were voices coming from the direction of the Palace of the Kings where neither of them dared take a peek, and figures loomed on the walls, but everyone seemed focused on what was happening on the battlefield outside of the city. Karliah knew they would soon start looking for them, as only one pair of elves would return to their leaders with news about the massacre by the gate.

A number of elves supporting a massive wooden ladder ran past them and they held their breath, trying to blend into the texture of the stone. Karliah let out a silent sigh, remembering her Nightingale Armor which would cover her perfectly. Fortunately, the passersby did not stop to look around. Niranye let out a shaky breath.

The street led them to a small plaza which once used to be a marketplace. Niranye knew this place better than her own home, as this was where she used to call to potential customers and haggle over the prices not too long ago, before it became a workshop for weapons and war equipment. She gave it a long, nostalgic look. Several dark figures were flocked around a small, inconspicuous door that led to a turret, located just a few feet from where Niranye's stall had once stood. Occasionally, someone left or joined, keeping the road between the marketplace and the Palace of the Kings busy.

"How are we going to cross it?" Niranye asked, frowning until a deep wrinkle formed between her eyes.

"When you can't hide in shadows, you need to make your own," Karliah said with a slight smile. "Look at that person." She pointed to one of the two figures that detached from the group and made their way across the plaza, towards the cemetery. "See where he's looking?"

"The forge?"

"Yes, the forge. So if you wanted to walk past him unnoticed, what would you do?"

"Avoid the forge?"

"No. You'd go right through it."

"What?"

"Look at him. His body is stiff and there is this slight tremble that makes him scan everything around him, but his eyes are fixed on that forge just because it's the most distinct thing in the area. Do you know what scares him the most?"

"No?"

"The things he cannot see. If you slip just outside of his view or get behind him, he'll notice. Ironically, the forge that he's looking at is the one thing that he ignores, because he sees it. Or he thinks he does. Watch me."

Karliah moved towards the forge before her friend could stop her. Niranye gasped and her eyes widened as the Dunmer stood up and confidently walked through the forge, picking a random ingot on her way and dusting it before her figure disappeared on the other side behind a number of massive barrels. The two people passed her by inches, unbothered by her presence. Niranye shook her head. Her eyes followed the figures until they disappeared behind the stone wall separating the cemetery from the rest of the city. As though something snapped her from a haze, she suddenly noticed Karliah waving to her. The way was clear now and Niranye used the opportunity to quickly join her before anyone else decided to cross her path.

"Now that's what I call luck," Karliah commented with a raised brow. Crawling to the closest building, she reached for the handle of its entrance door. "Locked, just as I thought." She groped about her pocket for a lockpick but was stopped by Niranye presenting her with a small copper key.

"Looking for this?"

"What? How did you…"

"Most people gave me their keys when this all started, trusting me to warn them… in case something goes horribly wrong… you know…" There was a pained look in Niranye's eyes and Karliah sensed a tremble in her hands as she handed her the key. The Dunmer gave a slow nod.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"Let's just go," the Altmer urged with a dismissive gesture.

They entered the house and locked the door behind themselves. It was dark inside, no candle or torch lit the interior and infinite number of cobwebs covered the dusty corners. Books lay in disorganized piles on the counter, some open and some with their pages torn and crumpled. A clay bowl lay broken in pieces on the table to their left, and some white, dusty matter had scattered around it.

A roar from the outside shook the whole structure. Karliah gave her companion an uneasy look.

"Just how many dragons are there?" she asked, knitting her brows. Niranye replied with a simple shake of her head. "Anyway, this place looks deserted. What in Oblivion happened to the young merchant that used to live here?"

"He was one of the first to be dragged away. Wrong place, wrong time, and the Thalmor had learnt that he knew Aislinn quite well. No one has heard of him ever since."

"Damn them," Karliah hissed quietly. "Let's find what we need."

"And what would that be?"

"Snowberries, blue mountain flowers, flour, a few pieces of paper, a rope and some smaller bags."

Niranye's brows shot up abruptly. "Erm, Karliah… you're not very good at alchemy, are you?"

The Dunmer chuckled. "What's with the euphemism? I'm not. Which, in this case, turns in our favor."

"It does?"

Karliah rounded the counter and searched the almost empty shelves behind it. "Yes. Once, I thought I could replace purple mountain flower with blue, so I did and mixed it with snowberries and water. Do you know what I got?"

"No?"

"A substance so viscous you could compare it to glue. It's quite useless, as it doesn't stick like glue or have any kind of special properties, but it can without fail serve as a great obstacle when you step in it."

"And the rest of the things?"

"Flour serves to increase the amount. I don't expect to find too much of these ingredients here, even if they are the most common ones, but we don't need so much to wreak havoc. And the rest… well, you can cast a fireball, right? I still have a bit of the explosive powder I used for my signal. It should be enough to scatter it all over." Karliah grabbed a handful of dried flowers and proceeded to the adjacent room. A number of boxes lay scattered around and the two of them started rummaging through one after another.

"Blazes, Karliah, if… if this works out…"

"Then most of the inner city will be taken care of. Can you go upstairs and see if you can find those berries? I think we got the rest."

The Altmer nodded and scurried away while Karliah prepared several bags with flour and paper scraps. She found a mortar with a pestle by the laboratory just beside the counter and started working on the herbs. By the time she finished distributing the powder evenly to the bags, Niranye joined her, handing her a bowl full of snowberries.

"They're all dried out though."

"Just what I need," Karliah said and dumped them into the mortar. "We need powder so it can spread over the snow. When it mixes, that's where the fun begins."

"Phew, I'm glad you're not my enemy."

"I'm only wicked when people are mean to me or my friends." Karliah's lips curled up as she ground the berries into fine powder. "Say, you know the city. Which are the best spots to throw these to?"

Niranye put a finger over her lips and stared into a corner absentmindedly. A spider ran out of the cobweb that covered it, making its way toward a small pile of hay that lay beneath the bed on the remote side of the room. After a while, the Altmer spoke quietly.

"Probably the turrets. There's always a passage to the ground level located in them, so if you block them, you block all the communication. Also, around the gates. They have braziers and barrels with oil there, so if you disable that area, you'll give Balgruuf's men free passage."

Karliah nodded. Her work was done and she stood up, taking a deep, long breath. "Then we're going to do just that. Will you be my guide?" She bent down to grab a few bags.

"Before we go, Karliah… can you tell me one thing?"

"Shoot."

"Why are you willing to go this far?"

Karliah stopped in her motion and gave her a long, pensive look. "I guess I find our guildmaster a little inspiring," she said at last and smiled.

They exited the house and sneakily made their way back to the main gate area. The city started swarming with figures in dark robes and shiny armors and the process of getting through it was long and painful as they sometimes had to wait for a long while for an opportunity to quickly move to another hiding place. Karliah had always hated Windhelm for its lack of greenery, but now her hate reached a whole new level, even though she found her quest quite educational. As resourceful as they could be, she and Niranye used everything they could think of to hide, be it barrels, signposts, dead people or even living ones. When they finally reached the Grey Quarter, Niranye was trembling.

"I'm a merchant, dammit!" she said in a tiny voice and shook her head.

"I know, I _know_! I'm sorry, Niranye, I…"

"No… don't apologize… forget about it. Let's go, I can't stand the waiting."

"All right. We'll start with the east gate. Don't stay too close to me. Trail me, don't go ahead, okay?"

"Karliah…" The Altmer gave her a pleading look. It was dismissed with a wave of Karliah's hand.

"No. We already went through this. There is no alternative. Let's go."

The two of them darted towards the gate. Karliah wasn't as good at throwing things as she was at shooting with a bow, but nevertheless, years of practice had taught her to aim well. The first bag flew above the great wall and burst into a cloud of blinding sticky dust as soon as it was hit by a fireball shot from Niranye's fingertips. The elves on top of the wall let out a surprised shriek but the two infiltrators did not stop. They ran westward and stopped at the first turret, repeating the process. The bomb went a little sideways as it was hard to aim this high, and Karliah scolded herself in her thoughts. Fortunately, the dust still hit the target area and its occupants were soon fighting in order to just stand on their feet.

One more turret and it was time for the gate. Left side was dealt with quickly. Several elves fell from the wall and died as soon as they hit the ground. Both Karliah and Niranye twisted their faces in disgust at the unhealthy cracking sound as their bodies landed, and proceeded to the right side of the gate. Karliah scurried towards a dark nook conveniently covered by a small bush, but as soon as she did, her path was blocked by debris as a huge blazing rock shot from the outside hit the wall above her. She gasped and backed away, frantically searching for a place to hide.

"An intruder! There she is!"

Karliah turned her head after the sound. A slight robed Altmer woman was pointing in her direction and beckoning to others to follow her. Karliah cussed in her thoughts and broke into a run, jumping over the crumbling stone in her way as she went. Niranye was somewhere behind her, but she knew what she had to do.

Karliah took a turn to the right, towards the cemetery which she rapidly crossed, and returned to the former marketplace. She quickly threw another bomb at the closest turret and fired a firebolt after it.

"That'll have to do," she quietly said to herself.

Niranye skipped to her side as she turned to the alchemy house, but there was no way they were going to make it. Enemies poured from every direction Karliah could see, in pairs or threes, but she knew there was no way to defeat this many. She grimaced and dropped the remaining bags, drawing her dagger.

"Die, bitch!" she yelled and lunged at Niranye. The Altmer's eyes widened in shock as she staggered backwards, preparing a spell. "What is it? Scared of the dark?!" Karliah taunted.

Niranye hissed. "As if!" she shouted back. "You'll pay for this!"

In a moment, Karliah was disarmed and sent to her knees by the means of a hilt of a greatsword which painfully hit the top of her head. A man stood above her, sturdier than most of his high elf kinsmen, and his face was twisted in a grin which boded ill. Karliah gasped for air and blinked to chase the stars dancing before her eyes away.

"Now would you look at that," the man drawled, clearly delighting in every syllable he let out. "We finally caught the little rat. Well done, errand girl. I'll be sure to reward you accordingly."

Karliah clenched her fists. She could sense the tremble from Niranye's body, overcome by fear. She lashed out at her just for the effect, reminding her friend of her role. Niranye snarled and kicked her side. Karliah groaned and curled up on the ground.

"Sir, what shall we do with her?" a female voice asked. "There's no one to interrogate her at the moment…"

"No need for that. I will personally deliver her to Arethil. I'm sure they will find… a common topic," the man hissed as he grabbed Karliah's hair and pulled her back to her feet. She staggered and the stars returned. "Prepare to depart, the city is lost. Miss errand girl, would you be kind enough to put our guest to sleep?"

Niranye hesitated for just a moment. "Yes, my lord," she replied quietly. She picked up Karliah's dagger from the ground and clutched it tightly. A moment that felt like eternity for Karliah passed and then the hilt shot forward and buried under her rib cage, making her crash into the wall behind her. She felt the heat of Niranye's body as the Altmer merchant closed the distance between them, and she could swear she heard a silent "I'm sorry" before the world around her sank into darkness.

* * *

 _Hey there, I'm back! As always, I have to apologize for the great delay, the longest I've had so far. A lot has been happening in my life, I've been fighting my health and working on several other projects to keep myself busy and not think of certain depressing topics. I've also written quite a few chapters of my other Skyrim fic, Clouds of the Past. So now I'm back to Strike and I hope you enjoyed this chapter._

 _To be honest, this one was quite a challenge. It might be just because I took a long break, but I also couldn't bring myself to write because my head was full of this new mod for Skyrim which is made as a total overhaul – meaning you install a whole new game with new world, new story and even new game mechanics that just looks a lot like Skyrim. It's called Enderal and it's… awesome. Unbelievable. Astonishing. Magnificent. Amazing. And I'm running out of words… anyway, its story is so intense that I just can't get it out of my head. I forbid myself from writing an Enderal fanfic before I finish at least one of those that I've already started, but really… it's great. If you ever have the chance to play Enderal, do it. And prepare a lot of tissues._

 _Anyway, as for this chapter… well, not much to say about it, except: yes, I made a lot of stuff up, like there's no Elion Camoran in the Elder Scrolls lore (yet :D), and there are no doors leading to the turrets in Windhelm, but since I need to make the city a bit believable, I have to improvise a bit._

 _And now some thanks are in order, for you guys have been simply amazing! I noticed new followers and favorites for which I'm very grateful, and quite a few of you sent me awesome reviews or private messages that just made my day._

 _My special thanks belong to_ _Smenghauser_ _who sent me this wonderful constructive criticism that made me think a lot about how I write my characters. Thank you! You're right, I do need to work on them quite a lot. And now I have to apologize for the weird reply I gave you, it was really out of place now that I think about it. I better just go and work hard._

 _Pietersielie_ _: As always, thank you for the review! Yeah, Dagon went kind of Sheogorath's path, but that's ok, he has his reasons. But thank you for pointing this out, I'll make sure this is explained clearly in further in the story._

 _AlbertDp_ _: Once again, thank you very much, your words gladden my heart! As you can see, I haven't stopped updating my story, though I'm very sorry for the delay._

 _Eric_ _: Well, it's always Mission Impossible. Luckily, this stage is mine to command. Thank you for the review. :)_

 _Twillin_ _: TWILLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIN! I already said this to you, but it's great to have you back! And Cicero, well… you know what they say. Out of sight, out of mind. Not like he can hear her thoughts… maybe. I hope. She hopes. Y'know. :D_

 _dart0808_ _: *just hides away and tries to sweep the delay under the carpet* Thanks for the beta. As always. ;)_

 _And that's all folks! Stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	43. Dancing in the Rain

**Chapter 43: Dancing in the Rain**

Farkhali woke up to nigh absolute darkness. She was lying on the cold ground just as she had fallen there and it took all her strength to raise herself on her elbows. Her head was spinning and her body aching. She felt every wound she had gained from the Hunter, and a strange haze dulled her senses due to the previous mental torture. She groaned as she clumsily sat up, trying to figure where she was.

It was a sewer, one she had never been to before, but if her estimation was correct, she had not been carried too far from the place where she had been found. Judging by the annoyingly damp air and the dripping sound of water coming from the mold covered ceiling, she guessed she was somewhere under Lake Ilinalta or the White River. She considered herself extremely lucky, for no one had come to look for her so far.

She shivered. She was cold, as there was no layer of protection covering her body and not even her fur seemed enough to keep her warm. She sighed and looked around, grateful she had been born a Khajiit who see in the dark. On the ground next to her lay a short wand. She picked it up curiously, recognizing the deadly tool her tormentor had been using on her. It was elegant, slim, made in dark, smooth wood. She spun it around her finger, wondering how such a small piece of wood could inflict so much pain. There was no pocket she could put it in or belt she could attach it to, so she just clutched it, forcing herself to stand.

Immediately the world turned upside down and she leaned against the wall, taking a deep breath. When everything stilled, she slowly let go, daring to take a few uncertain steps. She gritted her teeth as each step was painful and made her stagger every now and then, but kept on walking nevertheless. A skeever assaulted her suddenly and she lunged at it ponderously with her claws. Once again, she was grateful for who she was.

"Tough luck, _rodent_ ," she snorted to herself.

She proceeded along a channel that formed the center of the fairly low, dark passage. Inadvertently, she covered her nose. The water smelled of decay and rot and she made sure not to come in contact with it, or ataxia would be the least of her worries. On top of that, the omnipresent sound of dripping water was driving her crazy. Despite the pain pulsing through her body, she sped up.

Fortunately, the sewer did not fork into more directions and she soon found herself struggling against the bars that kept her from reaching the surface. They were locked, but so rusty it did not take much to make them crumble. She crawled outside, drawing the fresh air in big gulps, and hugged the grass that spread to her left.

She lay there for a good while, enjoying her newly found freedom and staring into the sky. It looked as though another storm was coming, but for now, beams of sunlight shot through the gaps in the thick clouds and covered the ground with huge circles of golden glow. The air was still down here, but she knew that would not last for long, as the sun beams were moving quickly. She was temporarily blinded before another one passed. Her ears could make out the flipping sound of wings as several birds flew close to the ground, on the hunt for insects swarming around Lake Ilinalta.

She slowly sat up. Before her spread the partially murky and partially sparkling water surface, and from its blue depths a fish stuck out its head occasionally, joining the birds in the hunt. Farkhali's eyes followed a dark cloudlet which, on closer look, was made up by hundreds of tiny flies. It slowly moved towards the lake and the Khajiit silently crawled after it, stopping just one step outside of the water. Her gaze turned to the reflection of the swarm in the water and she waited motionlessly. Then a barely visible circle appeared on the mirroring surface and she jumped. A moment later, she was holding a fine-looking trout. She grinned to herself and retreated back to the grass.

A moment later, the trout was roasted in a cone of flames coming from Farkhali's fingers, and just like that, she dug into it ravenously, not minding the smaller, tender bones that occasionally came with the juicy meat.

Feeling refreshed, she finally decided to wager on visiting Aislinn's old house, despite knowing it was deserted. She took a dive into the lake, shooting a worried look at the darkening sky. The wind was slowly rising and rippling the water around her. A slaughterfish attempted to get the better of her but she simply kicked it away and sped up. At last, the lake was behind her and before her stood Lakeview Manor in all its crumbling beauty.

Farkhali noticed that the house had been raided several times and most of the valuables had been taken away. She walked through what might as well been called a ruin, keeping her eyes on the floor to avoid tripping over the clutter covering everything from floor to top of the cupboards. However, Farkhali did not need pricey trinkets or powerful artifacts, and soon she found what she was looking for. A simple set of leather armor, a piece of dark blue cloth she could use as a sarong, and a thin sharpened steel dagger.

She spent a while adjusting the belts and buckles to her proportions and nodded to herself in satisfaction when she was done. The wand now had a new place at her hip, hidden in the folds of her sarong. The finishing touch were the boots which she stripped of the soles and reinforced with a few strings of leather. She exited the house as soon as she was finished, turning towards her new destination – the city of Falkreath. She was still angry, so angry it made her terrifyingly calm. Balgruuf's city was in danger, she had been caught and all that because of an idiotic jarl who could think of nothing more than his own position and profit. She would make sure to remind Tullius of the little fact that it had been his idea to let him rule over the hold. For now, however, she would take things into her own hands.

The wind outside howled in the treetops and it started drizzling. The clouds grew darker and thicker and the land was cast in shadows which made Farkhali smile in delight. By the time she reached the city gate, the drizzle had turned into a downpour, drowning every sound in the splashing of raindrops falling onto the soaked, muddy ground. She did not in the least envy the guards around the city who had to rely on the fact that no one would wander around in a country full of angry elves, much less in this weather.

She had to give it to Aislinn that her house had the best position it could. Built on top of a hill to oversee the lake on one side and the road on the other, so no visitor could come completely unexpected. Falkreath, on the other hand, was a strategic disaster. Open to assaults from the hills and to floods in rainy seasons when waters washed the surrounding rocks and poured right into that innocent creek that ran through the city, the only advantage it had was its positioning in the Empire. Fortunately, that one bright side was not Farkhali's concern while the other two worked in her favor. And just as she had expected, half of the guards were busy with a flood while the other half could barely see in the deluge.

Silently as the cat she was, she navigated through the city, rounding building after building, not minding the water that poured from the thatch roofs onto her head in long, sparkling cords.

She remembered the time when she had first entered Skyrim and experienced its moody weathers. The cold had struck her and despite having been born with a coat of rich black fur, she had struggled against the stinging snow, ice cold rain and sharp wind which, often combined, had a habit of slowly working their way under one's skin and deep to their bones. Then one day, a wise man had told her to go and bathe in the snow. Upon her shocked expression, he had laughed and said: "Make the cold your friend and never will it bother you again." That statement was the truest thing she had ever heard.

The house she was looking for was conveniently situated just past the gate, next to a sawmill, currently quiet and deserted. With a few careful stops to avoid being spotted by the elves and guards fighting the water, she made her way there and sneakily slipped inside. As expected, a tall, hooded man with olive skin was present, as well as three other people, two men and a woman, all Nords. Upon her arrival, the attention of all four of them turned to her. The hooded man raised a brow.

"What is the meaning of this?" he asked in the smooth, elvish accent that Farkhali was slowly coming to despise. "Who are you and how dare you trespass—"

"I was sent here to deliver a message concerning the Hunter," Farkhali said without hesitation. "This…" she looked around as though she was inspecting the place, "isn't the right place, is it?"

The elf twisted his face in exasperation. "No, that would be the jarl's longhouse. Huge building with banners. Haven't you been told?"

"Ah. No, excuse me, I had to leave in a rush. Thank you for your guidance." She bowed and turned back to the door. The elf tried to call to her. Faster than light, she drew her dagger, made a quick pirouette and slit the surprised elf's throat. The Nord woman screamed and Farkhali quickly jumped to her side, covering her mouth.

"Shhh!" she hissed urgently. "You don't want more of them to come, do you?"

"What is happening here?" asked a balding man with a long grey full beard which most Nords would be willing to pay for with their hand. "Who are you? Are you here to rescue us?"

"Somewhat," Farkhali said with a shrug and pulled her hand away from the trembling lady. The woman sank into a chair, eyes fixed on the corpse. "It is time you returned where you belong, Jarl Dengeir."

"What?"

"I'll explain in a minute, but first, tell me everything that's happened here ever since the Thalmor took over. May I?"

She pointed to a bed which screamed at her in invitation. The two men nodded and she sat on it, resisting the urge to lie down. The balding man whom she had addressed as Jarl Dengeir seated himself on a nearby chair while the other one, a grey-haired sturdy man whose wrists were as thick as Farkhali's thighs, stayed on his feet, resting his back against one of the walls.

"Everything?" Dengeir asked. He was handed a mug of some dark liquid by the woman who had finally managed to settle down and nodded his thanks. "What do you mean? Who are you anyway?"

"A friend. And by everything, I mean everything. What that lousy bastard Siddgeir did, what the elves did… every piece of information you know. Don't tell me you have no idea what goes on outside?" She tilted her head and gave him a piercing look. She decided to put just a tiny bit of magic in it. His shudder amused her.

"I… yes, of course I do. I'm just glad you didn't kill my informant."

"I am a people person," Farkhali stated matter-of-factly. "I know a high caliber Thalmor scum when I see it."

There was a momentary quiet before Dengeir laughed and his two companions followed. "There is this Bosmer that came from Riverwood a while ago, Faendal," he started explaining. "He was interrogated, first by what was left of the Penitus Oculatus, then by the Thalmor. They claimed he knew one of the remaining Blades and were very interested in his connections and everything concerning Riverwood. He somehow managed to convince them that he was one of them and worked for the Dominion ever since. They never trusted him enough to put him in charge here, but he comes to guard me from time to time and brings news."

Dengeir took a sip from his mug and shifted to a more comfortable position. "There is not much though. Most of the Thalmor's operations are highly confidential, he can't access the information on them. He informed us when the Dominion officials were about to come. Thanks to him, none of us resisted. There was no taking over, we surrendered ourselves because we knew they wouldn't hesitate to slaughter us.

"I was immediately put under house arrest. At first, they guarded me heavily, but I never said or did anything to catch their attention. Their security loosened after a while and Faendal sometimes managed to pass me some intel. Apparently, they're attacking Whiterun. I thought it madness until I heard that Balgruuf withdrew most of his forces from the city. Can't decide who's the mad one here." He let out a bitter laugh.

"So how many soldiers are left in Falkreath?" asked Farkhali and looked around, as though she could count them like that.

"Not many, but enough to keep us in check."

"And how many trained soldiers who could put up a fight if they had a weapon in their hand?"

"Miss, what are you planning?"

"Answer my question."

"I don't know," the former jarl threw up his hands. "You can't trust anyone these days! Even if we manage to give them weapons, we wouldn't kno—"

"How about we try?"

"B-But…"

"Were you always such a coward, Dengeir?"

The man looked genuinely shocked at the sound of his name. His two companions both furrowed their brows and the man, Dengeir's brother Thadgeir, if Farkhali's information was correct, rose in a threatening stance. Farkhali smiled softly, knowing full well she was armed and they were not. And they would not want to lose this chance, would they?

"I…"

"When does your guard's shift end?"

Dengeir took a quick glance at the hourglass on his end table.

"About an hour and a half from now. But the guards outside change shifts every hour."

"So I'll have a little over an hour. Any idea where I could find Faendal?"

"Well…"

"He's… he's probably fighting the water, just like everyone else," the woman spoke quietly. "You'll find him easily, he's the only Bosmer around here. Tall, grey hair, unusually pointy ears – even for an elf."

"Tekla?" Dengeir's brother addressed her with a raised brow. Farkhali did not miss the undertone of suspicion in his voice.

"Well, I thought it was okay to tell her. Can it get any worse?" The woman suddenly looked surprisingly calm. The Khajiit raised a brow.

"Actually…" Dengeir began, but Farkhali quickly waved him off.

"Do you want to free Falkreath or not?" she asked firmly.

"I… uh…"

"I'm not asking whether you can… or whether you _think_ you can. I'm asking whether you _want to_."

The former jarl sighed. "Yes," he said heavily. "I do."

"Then note this. The only thing that will work to your advantage is the moment of surprise. I'm going to give it to you, so don't let it go to waste."

With no further explanation, Farkhali rushed outside. Again, she was one with the shadows, concealing her presence and sneaking through the city. She nearly collided with an Altmer woman huffing and cursing the weather as a large splash from the roof landed on her.

She found Faendal near the local cemetery, working on a protective wall against the flood. Bags of sand lay scattered around and the headstones were barely visible for all the mud, water and sand.

The Bosmer was in a company of several other elves. She pressed herself to a tree and waited until he was closer to her. Then she threw a rock, large enough to make him aware someone was there, small enough not to hurt him and to attract only his attention and no one else's. He jerked in surprise and she let herself be seen for a slight moment, only to signal to follow her before the other elves started looking. Then she disappeared behind a corner.

It took a moment or two before the elf shouted that he was going to look for a spare shovel and retreated from the cemetery. He hurried to her and she quickly led him behind a bush by one of the smaller houses.

"Who in Oblivion are you?" he hissed. "You better speak up or I'm having you arrested."

"No, you are not," Farkhali spoke calmly. "You wouldn't have come if you hadn't thought I was a friend." She needed no magic this time.

The elf sighed. "I… guess you have a point. Who sent you? This is risky."

"No one, but I spoke to Dengeir."

"So his guards are…"

"You have an hour to get some weapons for the locals. Is there anyone you can trust among the Thalmor?"

Faendal scowled. "Not a good joke. It's the Thalmor we're talking about."

"Right. Then do this." She leaned to him and whispered something in his ear. He frowned in concentration, trying to catch every word of hers in the heavy rain. Even as an elf he had a hard time discerning the words. His face slowly changed from thoughtful to shocked, until it twisted in utter disbelief.

"This is… mad!" he breathed.

"But it could work."

"It _could_. But if it doesn't…"

"It will."

"How can you be so sure?"

Farkhali gave him a long, pensive look. Then she shrugged and a corner of her mouth lifted in an imperceptible smile. "Just guessing," she said.

"Wha—"

"Go. There's no time to lose."

She gave him a nudge and before he could give her an answer, she was gone. The Khajiit made her way to a secluded house where she hid under the overhanging roof and waited. Then she silently set out into the rainy weather again.

Her path led her along the walls, stopping occasionally by a bush or hiding behind a tree when there was a patrol passing by. A lichen covered log made her shudder with cold when she was forced to press herself against it. At last, her eyes spotted a pair of banners hanging limply by the entrance to the Jarl`s Longhouse. Several guards were standing before it and Farkhali stopped at a safe distance, measuring the way so she could sneak past them. She could technically kill them… but that would spoil the surprise.

She glanced at the sky, squinting as the pouring water blocked her view. The clouds were a mass of uniform greyness, no significantly thick part that would provide extra shadows stood out. Farkhali sighed and silently circled the building. She hid behind one of the adjacent building's corners and peeked over it from time to time, studying the guards' movement. They stood like statues, silent in the falling rain, seemingly dazed in the gloomy weather, but Farkhali did not give in to the temptation.

She waited and waited, until finally one of them moved and another followed. Change of shifts, that was her chance. One of the guards entered the Longhouse while another two left their posts, heading elsewhere. There was one left, and one guard always has a blind spot. Farkhali moved quickly, becoming one with the shadows. She circled a bush and pressed herself against a wall. A moment later, the guard turned his eyes away from where she was and she silently crawled to the entrance and disappeared inside.

She had to act quickly. Several Thalmor officers were standing around one of the pillars supporting the wall and ceiling on the left side, currently engaged in a heated discussion about supplies that Farkhali was not interested in one bit. But it served her well and she only needed a moment. A single blink of an eye.

She silently jumped to the right and helped the shadows guide her way. Her body moved like lightning, but shortly before she reached her destination, she was noticed.

A scantily clad Redguard woman with a thick braid of raven hair, likely one that had been imported for her exotic beauty, squealed at the Khajiit's presence, but Farkhali ignored her. Two quick steps and she was behind the Jarl's seat, pressing a dagger to his throat. People started screaming, but at the sound of one of the Thalmor's voice they turned quiet. Farkhali waited for a short moment and then spoke.

"Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, you will now withdraw all your troops from Whiterun."

The Jarl let out something between a snort and a laugh. "Oh, whoever you are, stop your jokes. You are heavily outnumbered."

"Oh, that may seem so," said Farkhali, "but the fact that I was able to get here should be enough of a proof that there are traitors among your men."

She could feel him shifting nervously in his seat. She tightly clutched the dagger and slid the blade a short distance along his neck to let him know she was not going to go easy on him.

"That's ridiculous," one of the hooded figures drawled. "We are the Thalmor. Do not put us together with… your sort." The last two words were spoken with utter disdain. Farkhali stood motionlessly, sizing the elf up with her eyes.

"Well then, maybe you should—"

The door flew open and two guards, one elven and one Breton, barged in, panting as they approached the gathering.

"E… everyone's fighting!" announced the Breton in between his shallow breaths. "The guard at Dengeir's has been killed! Half of our men turned against us the moment they saw it and… the citizens are out of their houses, grabbing weapons and fighting! We can't get to them in this weather, they know the area too well! Also…" Farkhali was under the impression that the man could barely keep up with himself, "someone tore down the sand walls and our supplies were ransacked! Our men keep blaming each other and…"

The Thalmor that had spoken before hissed inarticulately. Then his eyes fixed on Farkhali.

"Enough. Get the cat," he commanded calmly. Everyone readied their weapons but faltered the moment Farkhali twisted the dagger in her hand, reminding them of the situation.

"No!" the Jarl screamed. "Stop! Do what she says!" Farkhali could feel him tremble under her hands, pressing his back to the throne in attempt to create a distance between himself and the cold blade. What a measly coward.

"Well then," the elf said with a razor-sharp voice. He raised his hand and an ice bolt found its way right into Jarl Siddgeir's heart. Farkhali gasped and jumped aside as another one was aimed at her.

"You…!"

"Oh, don't act so surprised!" the elf said with a smirk. He gestured to the others in the room to fire at her. Farkhali quickly calculated the distance between her and the closest escape route and used the first attacker as a living shield. "The man has served his purpose."

A woman with a longsword and a shield charged at her and she slid along the blade, helping the woman proceed until she fell on the ground. Now she had to face three. She smirked. There were only so many of them that could fight her at once. She jumped.

The trophy she tried to hold onto did not survive the impact, but it gave her an unexpected advantage. It fell down with a crack and disabled two of the attackers. She landed close to another and just barely avoided a bolt of lightning. She grabbed the shield that lay on the ground and parried an onslaught. Her arm went numb and she hissed in sudden pain.

There were only few people in the room now, blocking her passage and standing threateningly before her. Her hand instinctively groped about her pockets, belts and buckles until it found the first thing she could use to fight. Without so much as thinking about what she was doing, Farkhali drew the cursed wand she had brought with her and fired at the leader. He staggered and screamed. Farkhali gasped, barely able to evade the next two shots as her mind was flooded with memories that did not belong to her.

A fierce battle of men against elves. Then an elven general with a cruel smile beheading a Breton woman. Beside her lay an already beheaded Nord child. Then a burning city, elven men, women and children hanging on crosses that were slowly catching on fire. Screams and pleas. Then a small child crying alone in the night. Around him lay piles of corpses. A ritual sword with the crest of Talos was buried in each of them and only its handle was visible. Farkhali could even smell the decay.

This man truly hated both the Nords and the Empire, and Farkhali felt almost sorry for him. Then again, she barely felt sorry for those whom she cared about, for strong people did not need to be pitied. The man in question fell to one knee and gave her a look full of pure hatred. She smirked.

The other men made way for her, as though this fight did not concern them anymore. She walked slowly towards him, a dagger in one hand and the wand in the other which was slightly trembling with pain. He could not move, only his eyes were fixed on her, spiteful and hurt at the same time. She stood there for a moment, ruminating whether she should deliver the blow or leave the man be. He would not do as she commanded, of that she was sure. She let out a worn-out breath and bent down.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him, "but I wanna live too." The blade cut cleanly through his throat. The elf died instantly.

As though a spell had been broken, the rest of the men now lunged at her at once. She was now in an advantageous position, and so she just waved at them in a friendly manner.

"See ya!" she called and exited the building through the front door.

The outside was chaos. She had to admit Faendal had done good job stirring distrust among the Thalmor. Although, come to think of it, she had done the first step for him. And she had failed her own mission. She bit her lip as she thought of possible solutions. Then she decided to search for the Bosmer again, avoiding the fights and clutching her left hand.

He was sitting on a piece of elevated ground behind the city, watching a fierce battle between several Nords an equal number of elves. After a closer look, Farkhali realized that one of the elves fought on the Nords' side. The Khajiit frowned as she approached Faendal, struggling against a creek that had run wild in the deluge.

"Why aren't you joining?" she asked, looming above him. She refused to sit down. Despite having gotten used to all kinds of weather in Skyrim, she still had her limits.

"Because I can still be useful if I don't," he said with a shrug. "The fact that I enabled the Nords to fight for themselves doesn't mean I am going to blow my cover."

"Right," she nodded thoughtfully. "Say, who do the Thalmor report to when their local leader is dead?"

The elf raised a brow.

"Well, say there was a split division somewhere who was under the command of the local leader whom I, uh… not so accidentally killed."

Faendal's inquiring look slowly turned into a triumphant smile. "You want to save Whiterun!"

Farkhali sighed. "Well, yes."

"So the leader is dead? What about Siddgeir?"

"Killed by the leader. Guess I didn't pick the best way to handle the situation."

"Well, then we're screwed. Give it up."

"You want _me_ to give up? No way in Oblivion that's ever happening. So?"

"They answer to the Squires. There are two in Skyrim. A guy called Arethil and a woman going by the name Reinya Talwen. You look capable, but even if you manage to get to them in time, don't even think about going against these two. They don't know failure. Arethil is merciless and would either torture you into saying stuff you didn't even know you knew or kill you without hesitation. Reinya Talwen is known for always having her way without even having to fight or argue. And they both have a vast network of agents who keep providing information and doing dirty jobs for them."

Farkhali's ear twitched. Now it was her turn to smile. "Always having her way without having to fight, you say?"

"No. Seriously, don't."

"Oh I will. Any idea where she is?"

Faendal rubbed his temples and let out an exhausted breath. "You're a stubborn one. But fortunately for you, there's no way for you to make it anyway. She's in Dawnstar."

Farkhali frowned. Dawnstar was not good. Even with her speed, she would not be able to make it there in time. If she could find another way… "I'm going to Whiterun. There's a high chance I won't make it, but… well, if you want to make some very insignificant difference, come with me."

"That doesn't sound very appealing," the elf said and wrinkled his nose. He let out a long, deep sigh and looked her in the eye. "Let's do it."

* * *

 _Well then. I must apologize for the immensely long delay. I hope you haven't given up on me, because I haven't given up on you and I still plan on finishing the story. But I got a job now and it's gotten unbelievably busy, especially at this time before the end of the year. Hopefully it gets better after New Year, wish me luck. Anyway, as for the chapter…_

 _I must say this one is a gamble. Not sure how I even came up with this, but let's say I wrote it bit by bit during the last few months whenever I had time and inspiration and it just somehow became like this. Faendal in the game seemed very much characterless, so I'm thinking of adding a bit of spice to his personality._

 _That said, about the next chapter… since I originally planned to make it one chapter including this and Whiterun, the next chapter is also going to evolve around Farkhali. And if you think she got over what happened to her too fast, don't worry. I'll get to it._

 _As for your reactions… thank you very much, ColdYeti and Twillin, for your awesome reviews!_

 _ColdYeti:_ _Thank you, thank you, thank you! So nice to have a new fan! And yes, I will continue! Sorry for the wait!_

 _Twillin:_ _As I said… not looking forward to when you hate me for this. :D_

 _As always, many thanks to_ _dart0808_ _for the beta!_

 _Thanks for all the reviews, likes, follows and stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


	44. Father and Son

**Chapter 44: Father and Son**

"Wait!" Faendal called to Farkhali as she swiftly rushed through the dim land. The clouds in the sky were so heavy that even the trees seemed grey in their shadow. Farkhali had to admit this wasn't pleasant, even for her.

"For the love of Nocturnal, you normal people are so slow," she said, a corner of her mouth twitching, and slowed her step to allow the elf to catch up.

"It's _you_ who is too fast," he snorted. "How are you doing it anyway?"

"Years of practice," the Khajiit shrugged and gave a hint of a smile. Faendal grimaced, and Farkhali found something about his expression slightly disturbing.

"So, what are we going to do once we reach the encampment?" He turned his eyes to the village on their right. It used to be his home for a long time before he had had to escape… and supposedly it had also been a home for one of the Blades. It occurred to him that it might not be a bad idea to join them when the war is over. Or even before that.

"Magic."

"And by that you mean…"

"We're going to convince the guards that attacking is a very bad idea."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, just like that."

They walked a while along the river. There were bushes they could hide behind until they reached the village. By then, they had to soak their feet in order to stay away from anyone's sight. None of them knew the situation in Riverwood, but neither of them was willing to find out.

"Is that how you managed to make that old paranoid work with you?"

"Didn't take much effort, really."

"Say," a subtle tone of seriousness crawled into Faendal's voice, "what is it that drives you? You do some crazy stuff, no offense. Funny I never heard of you before, because you might as well shake hands with the Dragonborn."

"So you've met Aislinn."

"Ah, now I see where you're coming from."

"Not quite…" the Khajiit muttered under her breath. What was her drive, really? Several images flashed before her. The twisted Redguard man. Her hand clutching a dagger. The Hunter with her wicked smile. Aislinn dancing with her twin blades. Balgruuf's face. She shook her head wildly, trying to chase the image away.

"Are you all right?" Faendal asked, frowning. He circled a rock in his way, treading carefully to avoid falling down and letting himself be taken by the wild current.

"Quite so. Let's push on."

They waded through the water, soaked to the bone by both the river and the rain, watching out for potential threats. Fortunately for them, it seemed that even the wild animals avoided the deluge as much as they could. Slowly they descended through the valley until they found a bridge. The first obstacle presented itself in form of two guards looming at its center. One of them seemed half asleep. The other one, however, was fully attentive to his surroundings, carefully inspecting every bit of the land. Farkhali frowned.

"This is a problem," she said simply and stopped her step.

"It is not. A short walk down is a waterfall. The road's a bit risky but there is a path that can used to cross the river, even in times of flood."

"You sure it's not guarded as well?"

"Of course I'm not. Just betting on the fact that I grew up here and they didn't."

"And if we run into them there?"

"Let's worry about that when that happens, shall we?"

"Fair enough."

They proceeded along the ferocious current of troubled waters. The path around the bridge was not so easy, as they could not go below. The river expanded so it almost reached the top of it. At one point, the two of them had to go separately, quietly sneaking around. At last, they managed to pass unnoticed.

The stream got even wilder as it descended. There was still no sign of anyone, the skies were grey and deserted and the only sound heard throughout the woods was the endless splashing and humming of the water. After a while of silent trotting, Faendal placed a hand on Farkhali's arm and gestured towards the horizon ahead, smudged by caps of snow-white foam.

"There," he stated. "That's our passage."

Farkhali tilted her head to the side. "You do realize what happens if we make a single step in the wrong direction?"

"That won't happen," he said with a smile. "I've taken this path a million times and you're a shadow tracker. That gives us a pretty good chance."

The Khajiit's brow quirked high. "How did you know?"

"Met one of your kind a long time ago." He shrugged. "I wasn't sure until I noticed the distance we've covered in such a short time. You handle your magic exquisitely."

Farkhali wasn't pleased. In fact, she felt slightly annoyed at the fact that someone could see through her tricks so easily. She fell silent and pointed to the waterfall. The elf gave an impish grin and hopped over the boulders in the stream like a chamois. Farkhali followed him closely, using his shadow to guide her. Soon the two of them were on the other side. Faendal smiled in encouragement and they continued along the path that opened before them, over the mountains and down to the plains of the Whiterun tundra.

The night was falling upon the land when they reached the city. The rain had finally subsided into a slight drizzle and from time to time they could spot a flickering fire from one of the camps that now surrounded Whiterun. The two of them approached the closest one in nigh absolute silence.

"I must say I can't wait to finally get rid of these," Faendal whispered, tugging at the Thalmor robes he was wearing.

"I bet." Farkhali let out a quiet chuckle. "Now's their big time though. Let's do this."

"And if we fail?"

"I thought I told you."

"You did. Just making sure you didn't suddenly decide you'd rather keep that fur of yours nice and shiny."

A corner of Farkhali's mouth twitched in half annoyance, half amusement. "Just remember to take things one step at a time. Plan your words and actions. If you need to think, make a gesture to get their attention."

"By the Nine, this will be hard."

"It will. I've never tried it before."

Faendal took a long, deep breath. "Let's go. This is making me anxious."

"Okay."

They both straightened their backs and walked towards the closest tent. A guard stopped them almost immediately.

"Halt!" an elf called to them in vibrant tenor. A group of other guards turned after them at once. Farkhali could feel several pairs of eyes on her and knew there was no way back anymore. "Who goes there? Identify yourselves!"

"Faendal of Riverwood, serving under the command of Master Aleth, and this is Ta'nima, our supplementary force. I am sorry to inform that we lost our third, Justiciar Yllona. She was killed in Falkreath in the rebellion."

"Rebellion?" the guard asked with a raised brow. "What rebellion?"

"We're here to deliver a message to Commander Velion." Farkhali felt this was her chance. She weaved just a tiny thread of magic into her companion's words. Faendal winced unnoticeably, but then his whole stance loosened, as though he had just drunk a pinch of something strong to make the fret go away. "Falkreath has fallen. The Nords have taken over and you are to fall back immediately."

"And who gave this order?"

"Classified information. Let me meet with the Commander."

"Uh… well, we're not in contact with him ourselves, but if Arcane Master Taren is enough…"

"No, he's not. Take me to the Commander. Now."

Several guards exchanged looks. Then one of them spoke.

"I know this one. He really works for Aleth—"

"It's _Master_ Aleth," Faendal hissed and placed his hands on the hips in an unspoken threat. Farkhali silently commended him. Not bad. Not bad at all. "So?" He tapped a foot to signal his impatience.

"Yes, yes," the guard hurried with his answer. "Follow me. You," he selected another guard from the group, "find someone to replace me in the meantime. I am going to escort these two."

They treaded in silence through the vast encampment. Farkhali could see palisades and foundations for fortification in the distance, and also some unfinished stone structure close to the outer wall of the city. It was left in a mess, rocks and round pieces reminiscent of huge tubes scattered around, as though the workers had left the place in a hurry. The Khajiit deduced they must have been taken by surprise. There were no corpses or signs of fighting, however, and she hoped the citizens of Whiterun were safe inside the city walls.

The camp itself was oddly silent. Farkhali had seen several military camps, mostly Nordic or Imperial, and none of them had been anything like this. There were always soldiers complaining, singing or simply talking to each other, some of them were drunk, some were brawling amongst themselves, and even at night it was loud and lively. Not this one. It seemed the elves preferred the cold and silent approach. Or the regime was too strict. She was never certain, unless they were Dunmer. The Dunmer were quite different from their fair-skinned elven kinsmen. Farkhali resisted the urge to ask Faendal about it and tacitly followed his step. She did not even realize that even now, she was rather tracing his shadow than following the elf himself.

At last, they reached the largest tent in the camp. Several guards stood there and one of them, a Dunmeri woman with look so sharp it made their guide falter, stepped forward, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of her sword. Farkhali studied her closely. She reminded her of Jarl Balgruuf's housecarl, the always wary, short-tempered woman called Irileth. A voice at the back of her mind finally wondered whether the Jarl was safe.

"What's the meaning of this?" she asked with the typical dark elf accent. "This is the commander's tent. You have no business here."

Faendal politely let their guide speak. "These two have news from Falkreath they'd like to deliver to Velion—"

" _Commander_ Velion!"

"…so I agreed to take them to him. Apparently, Falkreath has been taken by the Nords."

The Dunmer knit her brows and gave Farkhali and Faendal a pensive look. Farkhali suppressed a reaction. Her spell was still active, yet the woman did not need a single second to know they were impostors. She wanted to give Faendal a signal, but that would mean exposing them immediately. All the guards around them could attack them at once. There would be no chance of survival then. However, she did not like the look on the woman's face. What was she planning? Interrogation? Farkhali shuddered internally. Thalmor interrogations were infamous.

"News, you say?" the woman repeated with a raised brow and turned to Faendal. "What would you have to say to us and not the watch in Ilinalta Keep?"

"You are to retreat," the Bosmer said calmly. Farkhali wondered whether her spell affected the way he acted. Even now he was almost unnaturally believable. "We need to speak with Commander Velion to give him further instruction."

"I… see. Wait here. I will call him."

The Dunmer disappeared beneath the curtain which presented the entrance into the main tent. Farkhali watched it fall behind her, and for a while, the roughly spun fabric was the only thing before her eyes. She did not move her eyes to inspect her surroundings, nor did she turn to Faendal. There was silence, until Farkhali realized it lasted too long.

"She sure is taking her time," she commented in a neutral tone.

"It's a grave news you're bringing," the guard before them said with a shrug. "Of course she would prepare the Commander for it."

Farkhali contained a snort. A while later, the Dunmer finally stuck her head out of the tent and beckoned to Farkhali and Faendal. The two of them entered and the Khajiit knew immediately that something was amiss. There was no captain. Instead, a pedestal was raised at the center, carrying a bowl of water, and a picture of a red-haired elven head seemed to decorate its surface. Farkhali frowned when the head moved, and so did Faendal.

"Are these the ones?" a voice asked, and it came from the bowl. A very beautiful, refined voice, just like its owner.

"Yes, my Lady."

"Good. Leave the tent."

"But…"

"I said leave. Now, or there will be consequences. The Commander as well. These two will be the only ones keeping me company."

"Yes, ma'am." The Dunmer bowed and signaled to a wall which proved to be fake. An Aldmeri man, far more muscular than Farkhali was used to, emerged from behind it and glowered at them. He did not greet or say anything. The two of them left in silence. Farkhali raised a brow and looked around, but the voice caught her attention again.

"So, a stray kitten finds her way right into the enemy territory," she said sharply, "and just after she had escaped too. Welcome, Black Malkin. And you too, Faendal of Riverwood. I am Reinya Talwen, the First Squire in service to the Aldmeri Dominion."

Farkhali grimaced. "You're quite polite for a Thalmor. Is this why you 'always have your way without having to fight?"

The elf chuckled. "My my, is that what they say about me now? And you speak unlike any Khajiit I have met in my life. Tell me, dear Farkhali – that _is_ your name, is it not? – did you really think you would be able to turn an entire army away from the best strategic point in the whole province?"

"I don't need to answer that question. And don't bother with threats. Let's just get this over with."

"As always, I am misunderstood," the woman said with a theatrical sigh. "Your red-headed friend, Brynjolf, first treated me with a hand on his dagger. I suppose it is a common sight these days, but I still find it… disquieting."

Farkhali's sight turned dark. The last bit of information she had on Brynjolf was that he had gone to save Aislinn. "Where is he?" she snarled quietly.

"I sent him to Winterhold, along with that young talented Dragonborn mage he had with him," Reinya Talwen said matter-of-factly.

"Aislinn is not a mage."

"I don't mean Aislinn the Dragonborn. She was her… did he say daughter? It seems you have a lot to catch on, dear Farkhali."

"I see the Thalmor have bred you well," Faendal jumped into the conversation, his voice gaining a slightly irked undertone. "You really enjoy toying with people, don't you?"

"You fail to see whose side I am on."

"And you fail to see we're not buying your damn bluffs!"

"Forsooth?" The fiery-haired elf gave a look that made both Faendal and Farkhali take a step back. "If that was so, none of you would have been here by now, Master Faendal. You were interrogated because someone believed you knew one of the Blades. You quite truthfully said you did not… and yet you were wrong. Delphine, who had left Riverwood shortly after the Dragonborn appeared, was indeed a Blade and eventually she sought refuge at the Sky Haven Temple in the Reach. Do you realize what the Thalmor would have done if they had this information? Not only to her, but to you as well."

Faendal opened his mouth and closed it again, unable to answer to that.

Farkhali's frown deepened. "Anyone could say that."

"True. Then I shall take the hard way." The woman let out a long sigh. "What other choice do you currently have than to believe me?"

"Eh… to not believe you?" A corner of Farkhali's mouth twitched.

"I will let you go. Commander Velion asked me to pass a judgement and decide what to do with you. He is expecting me to punish you and in his eyes, I am going to do just that. Your mission will not be easy."

"Mission? Since when do we go on our enemies' missions?"

"I heard that once a cat is convinced about something, it is very hard to change its mind. I suppose I shall try the impossible then." Reinya Talwen gave Farkhali a slightly reproachful look, like a mother scolding her child. The Khajiit twitched her ear inadvertently. "You will infiltrate the city as two Thalmor officers and ask for an audience with Olfrid Battle-Born. Velion will think I am sending you there so he can have you stoned to death by the citizens of Whiterun. And that will be your chance."

"Wait. Olfrid Battle-Born is your contact, right?" Farkhali's frown was momentarily replaced with an expression of utter curiosity.

"That is correct."

"So…"

"You will kill him."

"What?!" Faendal gaped at the Altmer with his mouth wide open. Farkhali placed an arm before him as though she was trying to stop him from going somewhere. Her eyes kept hypnotizing the bowl.

"However, there must be no witnesses. We cannot trust anyone from the other side, and if a Thalmor learns about it, then I am as good as dead. As you can see, it takes one spell to inform any of the Squires or even Elenwen herself."

Farkhali suddenly realized that her shoulders were stiff with suspense. With a deep exhale, she relaxed her muscles. She could not find a single reason to not believe the woman, although a tiny voice at the back of her mind warned her not to get too comfortable yet. She tilted her head to the side. "How does this work anyway?"

"The commune system? It has been gifted to us by a daedra, as almost everything we are currently using. Oh, how the elven race has fallen since the old times."

"The Dunmer have been praying to the Daedra since time immemorial," Faendal shrugged nonchalantly, gaining himself an exasperated look.

"We are _high_ elves, Master Faendal. That 'high' is not there for nothing."

"And _you_ 're trying to convince us you're different?"

"Yes. We were the first intelligent and literate race to walk the surface of Tamriel. We should be your guides. My kinsmen serve a bad example for the other races. I am ashamed."

"Wha—"

"That… is an interesting opinion," Farkhali mused. "Not sure I like it, but it's definitely better than most."

"I do not require your approval," Reinya Talwen said with brows slightly knit. "Now go. We have spent too much time talking. Velion is certain to be enraged by the fact that I am not letting him kill you. I shall now speak with him. He will wait for Olfrid Battle-Born's signal to attack. The siege will be delayed. Use the time you gain wisely."

"Then…"

"No talking. Go. Oh, and Farkhali?"

The Khajiit raised her brow in question.

"Be careful with that spell of yours. Hold onto it for too long and it will backfire."

Farkhali gasped in realization and ceased her magic. Reinya Talwen nodded to her with a smile.

The two infiltrators excused themselves, backing out of the tent. A number of blades pointed to their necks.

"She wants to see you," Farkhali spat at the muscular elf. He left with a smirk.

A few moments later, he was back, his face wearing an unreadable expression. "Prepare a robe for the cat," he snarled, his voice unusually hoarse for a high elf.

"Excuse me, Commander…"

"Silence. Master Talwen's orders. And I'm _not_ going to explain myself to the likes of you."

"Yes, Commander."

The two of them were seated on the cold ground, tied to a cart. A few Altmer rushed past them, ordered around by Velion who stood in the middle of everything like a statue, supervising the situation. He gave a Farkhali and Faendal a quick glance, baring his teeth.

"Don't expect heaven," he snarled through gritted teeth. "No matter what Master Talwen told you… you _are_ going to suffer." Excitement reeked from his voice, almost like a beast toying with its prey.

Neither of them replied. They waited patiently in silence, watching the surrounding guards who quickly prepared everything for them. Farkhali was forced to dress into the typical dark Thalmor robes, which she silently commented with a sour scowl. Her, Farkhali, a Hammerfell Khajiit in service to the Skyrim Thieves Guild and the wandering caravans, clad in Thalmor attire.

Their captors made them wait for the night, cautiously watching them from the shadows. Farkhali snorted to herself inwardly. Her hands were tied, but she could still cast magic. She could get the better of them any time. Yet, she decided to wait.

It was an unpleasant, cold night. After the rain came the chilling Skyrim wind, the one that so much liked to sneak under one's skin and freeze the body from the inside. Farkhali and Faendal could not move and soon grew sore and tired from the waiting. The sky was covered in a thick blanket of heavy clouds, preventing the two of them from admiring the sparkling bundles of stars and shimmering belts of colorful aurora. Farkhali shifted uneasily in her uncomfortable seat and was immediately nudged by a guard. Their eyes met. Farkhali could see in his eyes that he was just as uncomfortable as she was.

"How about some fire?" she asked with a pinch of magic in her voice. "It might do you good too."

"It might," he growled quietly. "But not to them." He gestured to the whole encampment. Farkhali nodded in unwilling comprehension and with a sigh she used her tied hands as a rest for her chin.

The night dragged on, until at last, the skies gained on lightness. Their guards did not waste any time, and soon after it became light enough to see even for the most hazed human, they pushed them towards the city wall. There was a hole, and Farkhali noticed it had been made from the inside. The two of them were ruthlessly pressed through it, until a pair of Nords clad in soiled steel pulled them out on the other side. After them came their weapons which they immediately grabbed.

"Well well," one of the Nords drawled. "Now would yeh look at that. Hey, yeh two look terrible. You didn't spend the night out in that horrible cold, by any chance, did ya?"

"Oh, c'mon, Leinarth, don't tease our guests," the other one scolded gleefully. "Now, put on these," he held out two capes of a neutral, brownish color, "and follow me. Olfrid is waiting for you in his house."

The infiltrators quickly swung the heavy fabric over their shoulders.

"Any useful news on the state of the city?" Faendal asked as they stepped out into the streets. Farkhali gave an unnoticeable smirk. He was back in the role, and he needed no magic to sound convincing. She suddenly felt slightly stupid.

"News? Well, I s'pose yeh wouldn't know… they wanted to build some plumbing to get the water into the city… turns out it'll serve _your_ cause quite well. Couldn't finish it 'cause they found out 'bout the invasion." The man shrugged indifferently and rounded a corner. "Not that it changes anythin'."

Farkhali looked around. The city was quiet. It seemed as though it had been lively not too long ago, but now its residents were shut inside their houses, save for occasional refugees camping in between the buildings. Some of the guards were patrolling the city and she could recognize a few Companions, but no citizens were out and the marketplace was silent and deserted.

They hastily traversed a few streets and a square and made their way into the Wind District. The House of Clan Battle-Born was one of the more pretentious buildings, with quaint statuettes of dragons decorating its roof on each side.

"I guess this is goodbye for now," said the man with less distinct accent and bowed slightly. "See you soon though. And have fun breaking skulls."

"We will," Farkhali said with a wicked smile, an image of Olfrid Battle-Born before her eyes. "Take care!"

Farkhali and Faendal slipped inside the house. It was almost empty, save for a dog lying under the table in the dining room. It did not growl or bark upon their arrival, only its shaggy head rose and turned after the sound of closing door. The animal went back to sleep as soon as it became silent again, seemingly disappointed. Farkhali looked around with a frown, her gaze sliding from the fireplace at the center of the house to the doors along the walls and finally to the balcony on the far side. Then there were footsteps and a man dressed in a fancy colorful tunic decorated with beads of precious stones stepped into her view, looking down at them from the balcony. Farkhali knew instantly that he was the one they had come to kill.

"Welcome, my friends," he greeted and gestured towards a doorway on their right, leading to a staircase. "My dearest friend, Reinya Talwen, informed me of your arrival. Today, we are going to write history."

The Khajiit and the elf walked up the stairs. Farkhali carefully inspected every corner around her, using the shadows to aid her. Their host noticed her roving eyes and chuckled.

"You don't need to be afraid," he said heartily. "There's no one here. My wife is currently in the Bannered Mare, helping out with provisions. Idolaf, my dearest son, is in the Dragonsreach. And my other three children…" he let out a heavy sigh, "no… they won't come. Not anymore. And unfortunately, none of them knows of my allegiance."

"Isn't it about time you told them?" Faendal remarked coolly. Farkhali felt chills run down her spine at the sound of his voice. "They need to accept the truth."

"No. We have a deal and you won't… wait. You… you don't belong to the Thalmor! I know you!" Olfrid Battle-Born drew a blade and pointed it at Farkhali. "You… you were here! You're Balgruuf's gofer! But this… this can't be! Reinya Talwen…"

Farkhali twisted her face. This wasn't what she had hoped for.

"Now!" she called and drew her dagger. Her magic saved her from the swing of Olfrid's blade, making her slide along her own shadow faster than the howling wind outside. She tried to slip past him and get behind his back, but the Nord was quick and sidestepped immediately to block her passage. Faendal, standing slightly aloof, nocked an arrow and promptly released it. It dug right into the man's forehead. Farkhali unwittingly let out a quiet gasp as his body toppled over the wooden handrail and fell into the fireplace.

The Khajiit was ready to exhale to relieve herself, but the entrance door suddenly flew open and in it stood a tall, pale man with fair hair and beard, both tied into a neat tail. He froze where he stood, with mouth open as though he wanted to say something, but the words had gotten stuck in his throat. Then he looked up and his eyes met Farkhali's. She knew him.

"Jon…" she started. The man inspected the rim of her robes and his face twisted into a combination of pain, fury and outrage.

"You Thalmor scum," he spat. "You… you killed my father. He even served you! And how did you repay him?!"

"No, you're wrong," the Khajiit raised her hands in defense. "Please, listen to us!"

"I'm going to kill you! I swear I'm going to kill you!"

"Jon!"

"Farkhali…" Faendal started, but she ignored him.

"Please…"

Jon Battle-Born darted towards the stairs.

Another person emerged from the outside, a woman in dark armor and a blade that could make anyone shiver on sight. She inspected the situation with a brief look and scurried towards the agitated man.

"Jon…"

"They killed my father!" he cried, drawing a sword on his way up. The woman caught up to him in an instant and threw herself at him, making them both land hard on the floor.

"Jon, stop! This is Farkhali! She's one of us!"

"She killed my father! She's a damn Thalmor!"

"Open your eyes, Jon! You said it yourself! Your father was a traitor!"

"But he did not deserve to die! Let me go!"

"You need to calm down!"

"I don't need to…"

"I…" Farkhali said, her quiet voice somehow drowning the others, "I'm sorry. I _had to_ do it if I wanted to save Whiterun. But… you can now punish me any way you see fit."

She knelt down to lower herself to the Battle-Born Junior's level. The woman still on top of him groveled aside, but her hand stayed on Jon's shoulder.

"No," she said resolutely. "I won't let that happen."

"I'm fine with it," Farkhali protested.

"You might be… but I'm not risking infuriating my Thane."

The Khajiit could not help a chuckle. "Oh Lydia…"

The two women fell into a warm embrace. Then Jon's voice interrupted them and Farkhali shivered. It was a voice of a broken man.

"You, Khajiit…" he snarled under his breath, "explain yourself."

* * *

 _MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE! This is for all of you who have stayed with me, and for you who have joined recently as well! Glad I managed to finish the chapter just before Christmas. Now enjoy it, get lots of presents and be happy! :)_

 _As for me… I'm making it my routine to write on the train on my way to work and back again, so I hopefully I can keep it up and provide a chapter more than once in six months, lol._

 _And as for the story… well, I don't know how to comment on it. Too tired for it now, so you do it for me. I'll be happy for any thought or opinion you will share with me._

 _Pietersielie:_ _Hello! Good to have you back! And yes, you're absolutely right with the politics… but as you can see, I'm taking the politics to a personal level. :D No, really… we will have to go through a bit more of them to resolve all the storylines, but it's slowly completing itself. As you can see, just now I merged two storylines into one… and you might have noticed, but we are slowly but surely reaching the climax. Now to make it short… (ok, that was a good one, everyone knows the word "short" doesn't exist in Mirwen's vocabulary) Well, let's just say we're getting there. Though I will have to add one micro storyline to conclude the destinies of two of my characters, but it will be very short (there we go again)._

 _Now… should I write Aislinn next, or should I concentrate on what's happening in Skyrim? The order isn't really important, since basically all of this is going to merge once she returns back to Skyrim._

 _Aanyway, thanks to all of you for reading, favoriting, liking, reviewing… and you know. As always, thanks to dart0808 for proofreading! Once again, merry Christmas, everyone!_

 _And stay tuned!_

 _Mirwen_


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